


On Sacrifice

by Hthar



Series: Will the Future Blame Us [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIII Series, Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25322713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hthar/pseuds/Hthar
Summary: AU:  Sequel to "On Salvation."  Hope and Lightning must redefine their identities and find their place in a world where people from various times and backgrounds have to co-exist.   Rated M for language and some adult content (not entirely determined yet).Gifting this fic to Aloice, whose series of XIII-2 and post-LR fics (those in the From What We Cannot Hold Universe) were both insightful and inspiring to the creation of this story.Credit goes to Our Lady Peace for the 'Series' title "Will the Future Blame Us," a favorite song of mine from the album Healthy in Paranoid Times.
Relationships: Hope Estheim/Lightning, Noel Kreiss & Paddra Nsu-Yeul, Oerba Dia Vanille/Oerba Yun Fang, Serah Farron/Snow Villiers
Series: Will the Future Blame Us [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1834156
Comments: 25
Kudos: 30





	1. Semblance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aloice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloice/gifts).



> A/N: First off, this is a sequel to my previous fic "On Salvation," so there's no point jumping in here if you haven't read that one first! THERE. Okay so, it's been a while. I was inspired to try and write for the fandom again, here in the midst of COVID, by the many new readers/reviewers on my old content and the wonderful efforts of fellow writers in the fandom right now. Bless you all.
> 
> This fic is also happening because I had a few leftover ideas from the world of "On Salvation" that were floating around in my head and wouldn't leave me alone. Weeks of planning with beta-roomie, and here we are! I am breaking ALL MY RULES. I have never written first person. I have never written present tense. And I have never posted the start of a chapter fic when I didn't have at least a couple of follow-on chapters written. I have posted both here and on FFnet, so don't feel compelled to pick one platform over the other.
> 
> Please do let me know what you think! *hearts*

Time and memory – a blessing and a curse. Across a dozen lifetimes, I can't help wondering whether anything comes with no strings attached, no flip side of the coin to be uncovered.

The glimmering water of Crystal Cove is already far behind us when my own thoughts are released in Lightning's sigh from the window seat next to me. The sound of a first breath after waking from a beautiful dream.

The train carries us along its track – slow, fixed. Its speed is more suited to sightseeing than the forms of rapid transit we had in the old world, and its carbon-laced emissions claw their way up my nose to scratch at my throat. This is less than ideal.

But progress is progress.

Lightning's eyes watch the horizon, where a molten sun sets behind surreal rock structures crafted by the forces of nature.

Whether that was Bhunivelze's doing, I honestly can't tell. It wasn't a bad choice of landscape décor, either way. The precarious balance of some of the rocks defies physics, while the occasional cluster of formations creates the impression of ancient bridges and columns from a ruined civilization. Though that isn't the case, it does point toward Bhunivelze's sources of influence in creative – or possibly destructive – vision.

It's pointless to ask him. He will not answer me, not after these weeks of silence.

The sun's glare is too much and Lightning returns to our present in the railcar, blinking and checking her watch.

"Just four more hours to the Crossroads, right?"

The way she asks it, I'm not sure if she regrets how little time is left before our imminent arrival in the 'real world' of our home settlement or if she can't stand the waiting. Probably both. The winter months of off-season vacation have gotten us out of the habit of watching clocks – a reprieve we could not afford for centuries. It brings a fleeting smile to my face.

It was just that – a reprieve.

"More or less," I reply, stretching against the seat, and my hand falls into place with hers, entwined between us. "This is my first time on Sazh's train, though. He mentioned some possible delays from bandits targeting the rail for supplies, lately."

She hums in thought. A few beats of silence pass before the intensity of her stare burns into the side of my head, and I turn to read the question there before she speaks.

"Hope, are you sure about going back?"

The easy answer slips out, reassuring.

"I've been away from the family too long, and Sazh needs my help," I offer with a shrug. "Crystal Cove is just a second residence for us – only a train ride away. Besides," I can't help but tack on, squeezing her hand, "does it really matter where we are?"

The set of her mouth tightens. That was the wrong answer.

Well, I haven't quite answered her question. As it turns out, having all the right answers doesn't count for much when you keep them to yourself.

Lightning sulks against her seat, arms crossed and gaze set at the empty bench facing us.

"If you'd rather gloss over the issue," she mutters, "that's your call, but we need to be prepared for contingencies. You can pretend that nothing will change, if you want. I won't."

My mouth has gone dry, words turned to dust. Lightning has a gift with cutting straight to the marrow of the matter.

I take a seat across from her, bowing forward to rest my elbows on my knees. Looking up at her, the slight tilt of her head indicates a small window of opportunity to fix myself.

"Light, we've been over this. We can't say for sure if Bhunivelze's going to rear his ugly god-head just because we're not…" I hesitate, clearing my throat, " _together_ every waking minute, sequestered away from reality."

Her eyes are shaded by a dark joke she's telling herself. "I didn't ask the impossible. It was your suggestion in the first place, and Sazh could've let you go. How the hell is a well-deserved retirement to a life of wine and sex – which apparently renders your inner god catatonic – so offensive to you?"

"Not offensive!" I backpedal, mentally beating down the flames in my face. "But sadly unsustainable. We can't hide away forever."

"It's not hiding – it's keeping you safe!" Lightning snaps, but she deflates a moment later and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Look, I do understand why. We've talked about all the things you'd love to do for _humanity_ with your superhuman brain," she says pointedly. "But the closer we get to everyone and everything else, and the further we go from that safe haven… I don't know. It's hard to explain."

Her eyes are softer now, searching my face.

"I have a bad feeling, Hope. I'm not usually wrong."

What can I say to that? Nothing.

Just nod in acceptance and lean my head against the window, following the trail of dark smoke from the train's engine when it comes into view around a bend. Lightning's instincts are ever trained on my survival. My own sense of intuition has been useless, tossed on a raging river of nervous energy and anxious questions since we left.

Will the council be accepting of me, or any of my ideas?

What kind of dynamic will I come back to with family and friends after all this time?

Is Bhunivelze just waiting for an opportune moment to strike?

How long will I be away from Light?

That last one cracks my resolve and leaves me winded. Recovery comes in a few deep breaths and a loop of reminders in my head – that work-related separation is temporary here, no one is getting crystallized, and nothing can be worse than what we endured in the past.

Finally, maybe selfishly, I remind myself that if one of us stands a chance at surviving – or entirely avoiding – a life-threatening error in our respective job fields, it is Lightning. The proof has been undeniable. No one had to rearrange timelines to ensure she was safe before.

Whether the gods desire her or despise her, she always lives to fight another day.

And Lightning, for whatever unfathomable reason, ensures I do the same.

I need to stay mindful of my mortality, she has warned me. Centuries' worth of experience does not erase my need for training, it just solidifies my need for a refresher.

" _You grew back into this body, Hope. Your god-brain doesn't give you muscle memory."_

So we trained for weeks in the sand, on rocky cliffs, through towering forests, and along stretches of endless desolate landscape with nothing but each other and the occasional – usually dangerous – wildlife for company. Running, climbing, conditioning, land navigation, even swordsmanship…

A smile breaks across my face. She can tease about wine and sex, but sleeping with her is a contract to be dragged out of bed and into the wilderness before the crack of dawn.

"What are you smiling about?"

Ah, I've been caught.

"You have to ask? You never cease to amaze me, Light."

She blushes and tries to shake off the compliment like a pesky fly just landed on her arm. I can always say more, but too much praise makes her miserable and defensive, especially involving words on her tailored trigger list.

'Goddess' is forever stricken from my vocabulary.

The train rattles into a densely forested area, darkening our windows and the twilight atmosphere. It isn't enough to obscure the wary look Lightning gives me.

My eyes still stand out, I know.

Suddenly, static crackles over the intercom and pulls us both back to reality.

" _Attention all passengers. An armed intruder has been reported aboard the train. Security is in pursuit. Please remain calm and do not engage."_

The metal railcar door jerks open moments later, grinding in protest.

Lightning is on her feet, sword at the ready while her other hand presses me back to my seat. Someone stumbles into our empty car. His hodgepodge assortment of ragged clothing does not scream "threat" to me, nor does the look of pure terror on the slight boy's face at the sight of Lightning in attack mode.

"Light, I don't think—"

"I know," she hisses. She sheathes the Ultima Weapon. "Wait! Don't run—"

Too late. He turns tail and bolts back through the door, a lumpy sack slung over one shoulder bouncing hard against him.

Lightning looks to me. "Sad excuse for a bandit," she huffs. "Be right back."

Our car is far too quiet. My mind zeroes in on the would-be bandit, who couldn't be more than a scrawny teenager. I almost hope he gets away – god knows he probably needs whatever he took. Few valuables exist, and there is no widely accepted currency. If Lightning can catch him, talk to him and find out what has led to this incident…

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Lightning is back. She settles in with a frown.

"No luck. Kid probably jumped the train right after we saw him, while we turned the next bend," she says. "The security guards said some people reported stolen goods – food rations and a couple of pieces of clothing. Nothing too serious. I guess he flashed a knife at someone."

The trees outside my window are thinning, animals darting between them as shadows in the night. People live out here, possibly hiding in caves or trying to build a life in a struggling village. Some may not have survived the winter.

"We have to do something to fix this."

"Hope," Lightning says in exasperation. "We can't put an end to theft. There are guards for a reason. It's a nice thought, but people always fall back into vices."

"I _know_ we can't eradicate theft," I reply, dialing back the harshness of my tone. "I mean the conditions behind it. That kid looked half-starved and desperate. He might even be providing for someone else. The whole situation is wrong."

Her hands are suddenly there, unclenching my fists.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Life is messy. It isn't your job to _solve_ it like—"

I kiss her before she can polish that dagger of a thought.

"You know me better than that," I say.

Lightning sighs, her forehead to mine and her breath between us. Our lives are a never-ending dance around realms of responsibility, set to the steady tempo of guilt.

"Yeah, I do."

* * *

We arrive long after most lights in the Crossroads have been doused. Stepping onto the empty platform, I turn to spot Sazh strolling toward us. His smile of greeting pierces the darkness.

"Welcome back, strangers!"

He has just shaken my hand when the approach of heavy footsteps catches my attention.

Someone tackles and hoists me off the ground from behind. I would know that rumbling laughter anywhere.

"Let me go, Snow!" I gasp out, my ribcage in a vice.

"Sure thing, kid!" he bellows. He drops me to my feet to nearly teeter over. I try to recover my dignity, but even Lightning snorts at the encounter. She pats down my messy hair, and I want to sink into the ground.

"I am _not_ a kid," I mutter, and Snow roars with laughter again. I really ought to slap myself for such petulance. Travel weariness is setting in, clearly.

"Okay, okay," Snow concedes, and I'm caught off guard when his tone turns wistful. "I'll admit you've bulked up a bit – lookin' a lot more like my partner in crime."

One of his hands comes up, and I flinch in anticipation of his brotherly punch to the arm.

Instead, he grabs my hand and gives it a firm shake. "Welcome back, Director."

Struck dumb, I can only respond through my tightened grip. The moment is a machination of time travel, catapulting me back to the steps of the Patron's Palace, where we stood as equals – where he shook my hand one last time, and I left him to suffer in the depths of Yusnaan.

His signature wink breaks through the crushing weight of my memories.

"Now, if you'll all excuse me," he adds with a mock bow, "I've gotta go greet some other VIPs a few cars down. You two behave yourselves – especially you, Sis!"

"You're one to talk," Lightning counters. She shakes her head at his retreating form but wears the ghost of a smile. "He'll never change."

"He's got the right idea," Sazh chuckles, rubbing his arms against a sudden gust of cold air. "Way past everyone's bedtime here, so we'd best get movin'."

As Sazh leads us along the tracks toward the riverbank side of town, I have to ask, "So who are the other VIPs he mentioned? We didn't run into any familiar faces."

"Oh, that'd be his crew. You remember NORA, right?" Sazh explains, swinging his lantern to each side of the path in turn. "They sent word back here when the post reached Crystal Cove – mailed a letter to their fearless leader, which got my attention. They've been in touch ever since. And Snow did say they'd be travelin' with some sensitive equipment, so I'd bet they weren't in the main passenger cars."

"Wait, so they were there all this time?" I ask, gaping at his back. "I don't remember seeing them in the market, or at the station either…"

Sazh chuckles again. "Got your own single-mindedness to blame, I'd imagine."

"That's likely," Lightning speaks up, and she smirks at my half-hearted glare. "I saw a woman who looked like one of their group in the marketplace a few times. What was her name?"

"Lebreau," I remind her. "I would bet on her running a seaside pub out there."

"Too bad we mostly avoided the town," she adds.

I've taken her hand on impulse. "I can't believe we missed out on the authentic NORA Special when it might've been _that close_."

Sazh casts a glance back at us, one eyebrow perched. "So hit the place next time," he suggests.

"Sure. Next time." Whenever that might be.

My free hand nestles in my jacket pocket, playing with the handle of Lightning's survival knife. I can't muster much in the way of conversation for the rest of our walk. The chill of an early March night has taken hold, and our breath steams into the air. Lightning has interjected a few questions, much to my relief – just enough to get Sazh talking about Dajh, Lina, and a smattering of railroad business.

We've reached our cluster of homes when Sazh turns his full attention to us both.

"Well kids, this is your stop," he says, patting my shoulder like the adoptive father he tends to be. "I'll see you in the morning, Hope. We can talk shop then. G'night!"

With that, he walks off into the shadows, leaving us under the flickering refuge of a new lantern hanging at Lightning's front door.

"Thanks again, Sazh!" I call after him, but his lamp has bobbed away farther and faster than I expected.

Lightning is battling the lock on her door. She curses under her breath, pounding the wood before breathing out a short, dry chuckle.

"Locked out of my own house," she grumbles. "Of course."

"And your key is…?" I hazard.

She presses her head to the wood, stomps the ground. "Under the old mat. It's gone. I checked."

Sure enough, the mat has been replaced. It really was falling apart.

"So…" I start, swallowing down the lump in my throat, "…there's another way in, you know. Emergency exit. From the bedroom."

We silently agree to avoid revisiting the past, there. Her eyes shimmer with sympathy and pain under the lamplight for a blink of time, and she marches past me.

"Stay put."

Minutes later, we are standing in the blackness of her living room.

Lightning makes a beeline for the supply drawer, procuring matches and lighting another lamp on the table. Nothing has changed about the room thrown into light and shadow – the surfaces are immaculate, and not one object is out of place from when I had last set foot in here nearly two years prior.

Well, almost. Where my makeshift nest had once been, a bookshelf stands, sparsely occupied with a few unfamiliar objects and pictures. Upon closer inspection, they look to be homemade crafts and framed snapshots of Serah and Snow, Dajh, Claire, and baby Leo. The same sort of photos as the one Lightning had sent me several months ago.

The kids are getting so big. I gingerly pick up a family photo of the Villiers – Snow and Serah radiate joy, and it brings a smile to my face. They deserve this.

"Want to make the fire?" Lightning's voice cuts into my reverie. She has already pulled down the teapot and gathered supplies on the table. "Looks like Serah stocked us up."

"Bless her," I laugh, heading for the door. "I'll be right back."

* * *

Awareness of a new day crashes in on me with brute force. The shrill serenade of a bird just outside assaults my ears, and the sun has already broken the horizon, sending its blinding beams straight into my eyes through a strategically placed gap in the curtains.

I roll away from the onslaught—

—and straight over the edge.

My shoulder and hip collide with the floor, forcing out a hoarse yelp, and I sluggishly fight the tangle of blankets.

"Light," I groan. "Your bed is attacking me! A little help?"

Moments later, her tired but amused eyes are staring down at me from her propped position against the doorframe. She sips at her coffee in consideration. She might as well have been observing a rabbit stuck in its own burrow.

"You'll live."

Three loud raps sound from the front door, and she smirks. "Better move fast. Sounds like Sazh is here, and your clothes are over there." She points to the floor at the foot of the bed, leaving me with the sharp snap of the door.

The morning is a little easier to process with coffee. Lightning has made enough for us all, thank god. This is not our usual routine – _other_ people have not been a part of that for quite some time. Neither have complete sets of clothes, but that level of freedom is surely history. Coffee is at least a constant. A bitter bastion in changing times.

I curse her early rising through the steam wafting up from my mug.

Sazh clears his throat. His dark eyes have zeroed in on me, and I'm finally awake enough to catch on.

"Hope? Boy, you look beat," he says, but he cracks a smile. "Sleep okay?"

"Yes," I mumble, stifling a yawn. This is, shockingly enough, the truth. I take another bracing sip of coffee. "Morning just hates me."

"Good thing we got a midday meeting, this time," he chuckles. "I'm briefing a proposal, but I want to hash out a few things here, first. Courtesy an' all. Since it's meant for you."

Ears perked, I sit a little straighter. "You mean the proposal you mentioned last month? I wasn't sure if the council gave you the green light, considering the fact that I've been running a survey team, not a delegation."

"Eh, fancy titles and multitasking," Sazh dismisses with a wave of his hand. "Just how many trained diplomats d'you think we have in this place?"

"At least three?" I count on my fingers as I list them off. "Dad, me, Snow technically qualifies… maybe others. I don't honestly know."

"And how many o' those have a reputation in the field, now?"

"Snow could pull it off, with a little time outside of the Crossroads," I admit, "but you've made your point. What do we know about this trade dispute?"

Sazh grabs a rolled map of the region from his bag, laying it out on the table for us. He points to a dot labeled AUGUSTA along the rail line, almost due west from our marker of THE CROSSROADS by about one hundred miles.

"This town – you recognize it, right?"

Nodding, I dismiss the slight chill creeping along my skin at the town's familiar name. My mistakes and my paradoxical death are far behind me, obliterated along with _that_ Augusta Tower, though. I shake it off.

"They specialized in timepieces, among other technology in development," I reply, noting Lightning's quick glance at her own watch from that location. "What's the issue, there? We were only passing through, before, but I don't recall any trade problems."

"They're havin' a dispute with another place, a bigger settlement we've had reports of but not sent a team through just yet," Sazh explains, jabbing his finger at a point just north of Augusta. "The reports aren't what you'd call positive. I wasn't too keen on gettin' involved at first, when I heard we'd be dealing with the New Order of Salvation."

Lightning's mug smacks the table, sloshing coffee into a small puddle at the base. " _No._ How is this a discussion? Hope isn't going anywhere near a nest of cultists."

"Whoa there," Sazh intervenes, hands raised. "Lemme finish, soldier girl. You ordered that cult disbanded, remember? Majority of 'em left and never came back, and we've been keeping tabs. We got no indication of ties between that group's messed up activities and this other town."

My hands have clenched my mug as I channel the tremors running through me into a single, stabilized force. The phantom sting of scars traces its course across my body.

Deep breaths, a sip of coffee. Control. I meet each of their stares in turn. "Light, you said you were confident that the cult honored your request. They never pursued us after that. If there's still an organization out there by the same name that wants to go on worshipping the ground you walk on, I can't exactly argue. But Sazh, I need to know about these not-so-positive reports. Were they cult-related?"

"No," Sazh says. The room collectively breathes. "Not really. Religious, yes. Crazy cult-type? Not so much. Augusta reports that they've been trying to set up trade relations with this hyper-sanctified settlement called Nova Lux – apparently it's some kind o' theocracy under the New Order of Salvation. Their beef with Augusta is more of a 'don't tread on our sacred ground' issue."

Lightning crosses her arms, making a study of my face before narrowing her eyes at Sazh. "I still don't like the sound of this. Hope could be targeted. We don't have enough information."

"Join us for the meeting, then," Sazh offers, casually enough to belie an existing intent. He doesn't look ruffled in the least. "You'll get all the information we do. But take this one tip, for now: it's not really your call. If the council wants Hope on this mission, he works for me – not that we've got much choice here, but I'll make sure his team's assigned a top-notch security detail. Anyhow, that's it for the courtesy pre-brief."

Lightning is eyeballing her coffee intensely enough to set it on fire, but she only bobs her head.

With a half-hearted flash of a grin, Sazh rolls up his map and heads for the door, calling back to us, "I'll see you both at the meeting hall. Twelve o'clock sharp."

Silence floods back in, pressing against my ears until I can't take it anymore.

"Light, you know we can trust Sazh on this, right?" I try, barely murmuring the words. The air around her is still charged, and I know better than to touch.

She has gradually slumped toward the table, hunched protectively over the cooling remnants of her coffee.

"It's not Sazh I don't trust," she finally says. "I'm sure he's doing all he can."

Her face is impossible to read. "Then it's the council? Rosch?" I ask. "They're only using the resources they have, and I can support that."

"So you're just a resource at their disposal, now?" she deadpans.

This is not really a question, I know. Unfortunately, my mouth is still primed to run away with me.

"Technically, human capital is a highly valuable resource."

Oh, if looks could kill…

Some people – if they knew the subject existed – could dedicate entire careers to the study of magnetospheres around celestial bodies, while others would still wax poetic about the supposed magnetism between human bodies. What the latter group does not tend to grasp is the true effect of magnetic fields as a repulsive force.

These are my thoughts as I physically leap about a foot away from Lightning when she stands. The hair on my arms ripples up on a wave of static.

"Right," she clips, snatching her mug from the table and marching to the sink. "You're a valuable resource, and I'm a deadly weapon."

Words have failed me. Possible repercussions be damned, I follow her to the sink, brush my fingertips between the tense set of her shoulders, and press a kiss to the base of her neck.

"Take that back, Light."

She freezes on contact.

"Stop," Lightning growls, reaching back to grab a fistful of my hair. She has shoved me away, released her hold and slipped out of range before I catch my breath – and my entire person – against the edge of the table. It shocks the sense right out of me.

"Do you even hear yourself?" I charge. "Using our skill sets doesn't turn us into something inhuman. We are making our _own_ choices."

My eyes hold her attention. Lightning drags a hand down her face and clenches her jaw, fighting to school her features. "Just drop it. Serah's coming with breakfast any minute now," she says, checking her watch. "That was the first thing out of Sazh's mouth."

As she rushes by, she stabs a finger into my chest. "So you can save your holier-than-thou speech."

* * *

We've been waiting outside the council hall for twenty minutes. The irony of the situation is almost laughable. Here on this roughshod wooden bench sits Lightning Farron – former Savior and would-be Goddess of Death had she not told God to fuck off, and Hope Estheim – former world leader and vessel of the God of Light to whom she delivered said message. Waiting to be let in to a meeting. Where people will then give us orders.

"What's so funny?"

My mind could use a leash. "Nothing. Wondering when we get the pleasure of joining the big kid table."

"Isn't that sassy attitude the opposite of diplomatic?" she asks.

"I'm not on duty," I scoff, batting away the accusation and scooting closer to speak in her ear. "And you're not really into diplomacy."

Lightning glares balefully at me, but the door opens on cue. My father steps out and raises a questioning eyebrow at both of us, obviously aware he's walked into a tense moment. I just crack a smile.

"Great to see you, Dad," I say, standing up to extend my hand. I'm not entirely expecting the force of his hug instead, even if it has been nearly two years. He stands back to take hold of my shoulders. It's an odd sensation, facing him eye to eye for the first time in centuries.

He seems to know my mind has drifted to our early Academy days. "Looks like I owe you a uniform, Son," he chuckles, shaking his head at my standard field survey gear.

"Not the tie, too…" I mutter.

"We'll talk over dinner," he promises, ushering both of us into the building.

We have not seen the inside of the council hall since the fateful debrief after my abduction by the cultists. Afterimages of that day flash before my eyes with every step across the tiled floor: the bloody light of an autumn afternoon splashing across my bandaged body as I listened to Lightning, Snow, and Sazh fight through their accounts; watching my father bravely hold himself together, his eyes masked behind the glare from his glasses.

With a brief shudder, the memory falls away. I blink the world back into focus.

The room itself is fairly plain, as many of our buildings are – just a large open space with exposed beams. The presence of skylights in lieu of windows is the main distinguishing factor. My eyes are drawn to the large mosaic dome of foggy glass above the center of the room. It's the only thing in our fledgling civilization that visibly reminds me of Cocoon's crystallization. At this time of day, sunlight pools beneath it, brightening the surface of a round conference table.

Yaag Rosch looks up at our arrival, straightening his papers with a sharp rap. "Thank you both for coming," he says in his military-business tone. His PSICOM background forever adds an extra degree of sternness to his steel gaze.

"Thank you for inviting us, Chairman," I repeat back, dipping my head briefly. This game never changes no matter the world we're on. My father gestures at two seats between Snow and Sazh, where we settle in to read the room.

Our seats are those of Fang and Noel, I realize, empty while the former is away and the latter has not yet been replaced after his relocation. Discounting Captain Amodar, who is at least familiar from Lightning's border patrol work and prior Guardian Corps service, there are five other members I don't know well – former governors or politicians from the Cocoon era who served in capacities similar to my father.

Besides Bartholomew Estheim, one of the Academy's co-founders, the relative lack of representation by hundreds of years of our organization's leadership stands out.

Here I am, I guess. Strangely, this does not feel like my place. Snow can kid around with his 'Director' talk, but that doesn't make me any less a cosmic-scale aberration.

Sazh stands, takes up his notes, and begins to present his proposal. I turn at the sound of my name in the midst of his speech, though the material is mostly familiar to this point from his pre-brief.

"I think we can count on Hope's Academy connections," Sazh continues. "Call it a gesture o' good faith with Augusta, on top of his track record in the field. I've put together a report of several recent accomplishments to back the decision."

"I did review it," Rosch replies, taking up one of the pages in his stack. "I can't argue with qualifications, though we don't know what to expect from the other side of negotiations. Our only direct knowledge of the New Order was… problematic, in the past. Augusta claims the religious organization in Nova Lux is obstinate in its refusal to let them broker railway or mining access to resources there, but they are not violent or openly threatening thus far. No New Order followers have been active in the Crossroads in accordance with previous demands, either, and we've had no reports to the contrary from other known settlements."

"Don't you think it might be beneficial to send Lightning along?" Sazh adds, gesturing to his right. "Just in case the New Order would respond to her? As a failsafe, that is."

Rosch concentrates on Lightning for a moment, narrowing his eyes as he weighs the option. She meets his gaze with the cold indifference of death. Somehow, I don't expect him to take this course of action.

He sits back, sharp eyes returning to Sazh. "No, I don't think so. Our intention is to be non-threatening and neutral in these negotiations, so the railway can proceed. As the former Savior, the New Order could attempt to pit her against Augusta's representatives and interpret her refusal as rejection by our delegation. More importantly, I can't guarantee that she could remain impartial if Nova Lux gave the impression of a threat to our ambassador. Diplomacy has its occupational hazards. Violence defeats the purpose."

The chill of Lightning's bottled fury prickles my skin, while she barely bats an eyelash at the charges against her. I wonder if Sazh is also fighting a full-body shiver.

Suddenly, Rosch's eyes home in on me. "Hope, you're aware of the risk. Is this acceptable?"

Now, they are all looking at me – all except Lightning, for good reason. They are indifferent, calculating or concerned, and the weight of it bears down on my shoulders. It really has been a while since I've carried this kind of burden.

All things considered, Lightning was only with me in spirit when I carried it in the past. And that was a far heavier load. This should be more than manageable.

"Yes," I say, feeling as if I've detached myself from this body to hover in the dome overhead. Dozens of possibilities are swirling in my mind – I can't say the risk outweighs the opportunity to fix many issues out in the field. "I accept the assignment."

"Good," Rosch affirms. "Take comfort in the fact that anonymity may be your ally in Nova Lux. We're told it was settled by much of the surviving population from Luxerion, which all but forgot the existence of 'Hope Estheim.' You'll be judged on your diplomatic merit alone."

After a breath of pause, he adds as almost an afterthought, "I am assigning an observer to join the security detail and relay reports on your behalf as well – one less administrative task to bother with."

Nodding, the twist in my gut announces just how comforting these facts are.

We begin the tedious process of hammering out logistics. I'll be leading my usual team on standard survey work for the railway, with the diplomatic mission a background affair that falls to me alone. We will discuss more details of the tense situation and form a plan of action with the leadership in Augusta first, depart again for survey, and meet with the leadership in Nova Lux on behalf of the Crossroads' railway development to hopefully strike a compromise.

This will take weeks – possibly months, if new demands come up from either side.

Lightning, at this point, looks like she has more than a few strong words to say, but to her credit she does not interrupt, seeming to bide her time.

We are both blindsided when Snow pipes up immediately after the close of the discussion, commanding the attention of the room.

"Chairman, I've got one extra item of business before we dismiss, if that's all right," he casually suggests. Rosch gives a curt nod for him to continue.

Snow folds his hands on the table in front of him. "Captain," he says, addressing Amodar instead, "I'm looking for security on a sensitive small team operation over the next few months. Unfortunately, I can't disclose the details here, but we'd like to limit it to just one escort. Someone who works well on independent duty, solid land nav and combat skills, and I'd say at least a couple of years in the field. I'm asking for your recommendation."

"Well," Amodar begins, stroking the ends of his thin mustache, "I do have one highly experienced soldier who isn't currently assigned to a post – a perfect fit, actually."

His gaze has landed to my left, which explains the sudden charge in the air around Lightning.

"What do you say, Farron?" he asks. "I know you just got back, but patrol work's an obvious waste of your talents, anyway."

She blinks and answers evenly, "Thank you, sir. I'll take the mission."

Savior or not, Lightning has never been one to turn down a challenge. Her automatic response comes across a tad dry, though. I suspect that her defiant streak does not apply to a respected superior like Captain Amodar, at least not without good reason.

That does not mean she is pleased with this arrangement. The collective tension in her person is reaching critical mass – I can practically feel it coiling around her spine, setting every muscle on edge. If she grips the top of her pant-legs any harder, she's going to leave bruises.

I do not envy Snow after this.

Or myself, for that matter.

* * *

The promise of dinner finally leads us all in a silent march to my parents' house.

I have barely passed the threshold when my mother catches me in her arms.

"Mom, are you okay?" She is trembling against me, the sensation slight but strong enough to vibrate through my whole body. This is the third hug I've been trapped in since last night.

Reaching down to lift her face, I see the shine of unshed tears. She sniffs once, clears her throat, and releases me with the tiniest of smiles.

"I think we got the measurements right," she says, swiping her eyes with a rapid flick of her fingers before she adjusts my collar. "Just look at you. My precious boy…"

Embarrassment creeps into my cheeks and I hazard a glance at the door behind me. The others must have slipped past, leaving me alone in the foyer with Mom.

"Measurements for what?"

She just keeps smiling and leads me by the hand, past the living room where I catch sight of Snow and Sazh chatting with my father while Lightning lurks near the bookshelf, back to the spare bedroom.

Mom lights a lamp, and its glow suffuses the cramped space until it hits something hanging from the closet, glinting off two rows of silver clasps.

And one accursed blue tie.

Dad's words come back to me like a bolt of lightning. My breath catches, and I stare at my mother in awe. "You actually _made_ me a uniform?"

Her hands folded shyly in front of her, she only nods. I've always known she was a talented seamstress, handy with knitting and all manner of homemade goods, but to accomplish this level of detail without a sewing machine…

My feet have carried me over to her masterpiece before I realize I've moved. The stitching is so precise, with every last detail brought back to life. I run my fingers down the two-toned sleeves to the ribbing around the cuffs. The pants are a simple pair of gray slacks, but they feel sturdy and smooth under my inspection.

It occurs to me that my mother had to be following directions from someone else to recreate this. Someone with powerful memories of its design and my appearance.

"I guess Dad made a pretty strong case to put you through all this work," I say, the words coming up rough with emotion. "It's a perfect replica, Mom. I can't thank you enough."

She shakes her head, flapping a hand at me as she walks to the door. "Just try it on," she insists. "I'll never be able to accept all this praise until I know it fits!"

Alone in the room – _my_ room, had my parents gotten their way – the uniform stares me down. The warm atmosphere shifts, and a cold weight settles in the pit of my stomach. My long and torturous former life is woven into the history of this cloth.

Prodigy. Leader. Brother.

Slave.

All those centuries, alone with my mind and the uniform. It has borne witness to my most brilliant moments and darkest hours. Sometimes, it was all that held 'Hope Estheim' together. Versions of it were caked with grime in the ruined sites of our surveys, soaked with sweat and blood and tears, torn from desperate flight in the face of monsters and men who intended to kill me. Crudely patched with unsteady hands when it was all I had left.

Until it, too, was stripped away. The last vestige of my identity.

Bhunivelze and his phantom left me with nothing.

This thought stirs me to action. My hands are shaking, my stomach churning with that raw sensation of nakedness and helplessness.

 _No_. No more. It's over. I fight to steady my racing pulse, hurriedly shed my scratchy field gear and slip into this second skin, the armor of my better self. The me worth remembering. The tie can come along for the ride, too.

Catching my reflection in the mirror as I leave the room, I take a sharp breath, wide-eyed and overwhelmed like the first time I saw the ocean.

It's been so long since I've seen myself.

* * *

In hindsight, the others probably could've used fair warning on this development.

My entry to the living room is met with the piercing shatter of glass on flooring.

Lightning has dropped her water. Her hand hangs in the air, an array of emotions flitting across her eyes like frames from a horror film. Snow's face contorts in an effort to hold back tears, which is a rare sight. He recovers enough to grab Lightning by the arm as she tries to flee the scene.

"Let me _go_ ," she growls, finally tearing free and shooting me one last tortured glance as she blows past me to the foyer. We all freeze in suspense until the slam of the front door jars us back to life.

"Now, what the hell was that all about?" Sazh finally says.

Dad scratches at his beard, starting to pace, and Mom seems to be covering her shock by getting a broom for the mess on the floor.

"No idea – an unexpected reaction, for sure," Dad mutters, mostly to himself. He stops and turns to me. "Well, are you going after her?"

Rooted to the spot myself, the cogs are whirring in the back of my mind in an effort to break things down. Chasing Lightning right now might not end well.

"Not yet," I manage. "She… obviously needs a moment. I'm not sure what it is about seeing this," I pull at my uniform self-consciously, "that rattled her so much. She's only ever seen me in it once, in person – could be a contributing factor, I suppose."

My gaze drifts to Snow, who has remained a brooding statue. His eyes are clouded and boring into the floorboards. They suddenly snap up to mine.

"It's been a while, brother," he remarks, his grin strained. "So I'd bet on an adjustment period. Cut Lightning some slack. I'm sure she'll explain herself."

A knock sounds from the door. Sazh strides off, and in the next minute, intermingling shouts and laughter flood the room as Serah, Lina, Vanille, Dajh and the Villiers children bring their enthusiasm. Snow and Dajh take over the task of wrangling the little ones, but the result is still chaotic.

Vanille bounces by and throws herself on me in a hug.

"Aw, Hope," she coos, "we've really missed you!" She leans back to bop me on the nose with a finger, her smirk curling with mischief.

"But you're getting too handsome. Poor Lightning – she'll have to go 'round fighting people off you all the time, won't she?"

"Wha—?" I squeak, but she has bounded away to help my mother. She has not changed one iota. And it sounds like Fang still has her hands full with her Saint's followers.

Raking a hand through my hair, I take a few deep breaths to cope with the crowded, noisy atmosphere. The positive energy might be infectious enough to counterbalance it if my mind wasn't stranded in the wastes of confusion from Lightning's stormy departure.

Serah skips over to squeeze me in a brief side-hug. I have accepted the fact, by now, that everyone is going to get hold of me at least once today. She looks a little misty-eyed even as she laughs at my tie, giving it a playful swat.

"It's good to see you again, Director Hope Estheim," she says, tilting her head with a winning smile. "I meant to thank you earlier for taking such good care of my sister, by the way. She was so much more _herself_ this morning…"

Her eyes cast around the room as she notices Lightning's conspicuous absence.

"Um, actually, where is she now?"

I rub at the back of my head, sighing toward the front door. "Funny you should ask. She… might have freaked out a little bit about my uniform and taken off. Not sure how much time she needs to process whatever is bothering her, but I don't want to make it worse by barging in as the source of the trouble."

"Everyone coming to the table?" my mother asks to the room, shifting the focus of her question to me with a glance.

I can't follow my friends and family trailing into the dining room. My feet will not move past the doorway, and the smell of food wafting over is almost nauseating. Serah hangs back and pats my arm, a sadness in her eyes as they search mine. She understands.

"Just go," she says. "We'll still be here."

* * *

Lightning is exactly where I expect to find her.

Granted, I had also investigated several other possible locations first to give her some time before following a slender pillar of smoke to where it wafts above our usual riverbank haunt, vanishing into the dusky sky.

It takes a minute to process the scene before me. Lightning sits upon a rock, empty eyes fixated on a growing fire as she casually tosses a bundle of deep mauve fabric into its midst, prompting a burst of sparks before the delicate material is devoured. The flames crackle and hiss around scattered metallic bits amongst the wood. A few larger pieces of armor plating glow in the rising heat.

Her garb. She is obliterating it. She has joked about doing so before, but this strikes me as more of an explosive release of the tension I've been tracking today. My eyes slip over to the remaining pieces – her Equilibrium and Champion of Etro ensembles are draped carelessly over a bush, with only a handful of others piled nearby. A part of me wants them to survive.

"Light, what are you…" I barely articulate, inching toward her. Finally, I just ask, "Why?"

She turns to my voice and her defensive aura swells around her, invisible waves beating against me. Her eyes are haunted. She can't hold my gaze for more than a few brief moments. She goes back to incinerating pieces of her past in lieu of responding.

Hmph, I know that feeling.

I take a seat in the sparse grass just a few feet away, watching the battle unfold before me in stunned silence. Lightning finishes her burning task on what looks to be the Dark Muse with a final toss of its mismatched armbands. She stands, whips around and yanks at the feather train of her Champion of Etro garb with a vengeance, wrestling with the piece as it's caught on the bush.

In the final freeing tug, she overbalances and crashes to her hands and knees. She grabs the silvery plumage beneath her and slams it into the dirt. She does not get back up. It takes every ounce of my control to not go to her, but I wait.

Her fingers claw into the feathers until a strangled near-growl of a sob escapes her throat. "Don't look so surprised," she chokes out. "Hope…"

Lightning trails off, lifting her eyes, forcing herself to face me. All of me. She flinches at first, but gives in to the torment that plays across her features.

"How can you do this to yourself again?"

My thoughts probe around her words. She is concerned about the New Order's involvement in my assignment and the looming threat of Bhunivelze within, but this goes deeper. The intense reaction to my Academy uniform does not fit.

"Light, I don't understand," I try, moving forward to kneel in front of her and pressing a hand to my chest. "I thought you would be relieved – proud, even. You know what the Academy stood for. It's _unacceptable_ that almost everyone has forgotten how hard humanity worked to be free. And you know what _I_ stand for, what it could mean for people. So why—?"

"But what does it mean for _you_?" she spits back. She crawls up to me, grabs the front of my shirt. There is dust and salt and fire in her eyes – a ruined city and an empty throne.

I steady her with my hands. "We all made sacrifices. You more than anyone. I thought… we both had decided to move past it."

"So did I," Lightning bites out. Her head falls to my shoulder and she crumbles against me. "Idiot. You just… keep making yourself a target. I had to _stand by_ in Valhalla, watching you murdered in a hundred timelines for everything you stood for – your creations, your people, your _ideals_ ," she says, pounding each cause into my heart with her fist.

"All because you never back down. I _won't_ see your blood on this uniform again. You don't owe the world a damn thing!"

There it is. My arms tighten around her, holding her together. Lightning has closely guarded this particular chink in her armor since we came to this world. She only ever gave me the smallest glimpses into her centuries of battling Caius while keeping a solitary watch over Etro and the timeline's alignment. Her obvious avoidance of the subject led me not to pry. Still, that was _five hundred years_ of her life.

It was the longest watch in history. She fought for our souls, I fought for our lives. We turned over without a word.

How did it never occur to me that she witnessed all the possibilities?

That she is the only human being alive to bear the burden of remembering them?

Noel, Serah and Yeul are forever traumatized by only a _handful_ of those futures.

The one horrific alternate timeline I'm aware of is the future Serah warned me about, regarding the proto-fal'Cie project. Just the thought of being slaughtered, along with my entire research team, by my own creation, and causing a Cie'th-infested future freezes my blood. But to watch it unfolding before my eyes, praying that this was surely not the timeline fate had in store…

I would never have lasted. A single glimpse of Lightning, alive and fighting in an oracle drive, inspired me to build and hang a moon in the sky, but seeing her die a hundred deaths would have undone me.

Her breathing is stuttered but slowing, steadying against my collar.

She is right. How could I not see this coming? Lightning does not _know_ me as a leader – she never got the chance to meet me, then. Only peer into my darkest destinies.

The true destiny of Director Hope Estheim wasn't much better, it just wasn't quite death.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper against her hair. "I didn't think—"

"Don't apologize. You can't help who you are." She pushes slightly back from me, her eyes hazily regarding my chest until she blinks and redirects to examine the side of her right hand.

Blood seeps from a small gash in her skin. Looking down, a matching red smear marks one of my silver clasps like a well-aimed kill shot, right where she hit me.

"Tch, perfect," she mutters, a brittle smirk on her lips. She carelessly wipes the blood on her dirty cargo pants and sighs at her lap, her open arms falling in a gesture at herself. "Clearly you can't help what you love, either."

A secret place in my soul fractures. _What_ you love. As if she is some unclean object, a filthy sword cast aside when no longer needed. I want to scream at her.

"Light, _please_ …"

I can't help but hear her self-loathing for what it is. We are too much a part of each other. The words to correct her are choking me, at war in my throat until the casualties cut off every verbal course of action. I shake my head, gather her back in, and follow her gaze when it retreats.

I capture her mouth, breathing in and tasting the smoke and ash as I swallow any more destructive words she might have in reserve. What could I possibly say that hasn't been said a hundred times before?

Stop lying to yourself?

You deserve everything you want in life, anything I can give you and more?

I would not exist without you?

No, I can't say these things. Because I am a hypocrite, and this is my fault.

" _Hope_ ," Lightning gasps, breaking away as the edges of my painful thoughts have barely begun to heal over. "You know you can't just kiss everything better, right?"

The proud fighter in her is rallying, at least.

"Worth a try," I breathe, my smile hanging on by a thread. "How did you put it? When we were sitting right over there, actually." I look past her to the riverbank, recalling the determination on her face before I kissed her that first time.

Yet another instance of drowning our mutual abject misery in the flood of something more powerful. More present.

"You can't expect _my_ brain to catalogue everything," she says.

Still keeping watch on her skeptical face, I rummage around in one of her cargo pockets to procure the usual first-aid kit. "Well, I remember. Something about 'doing whatever it takes until I'm satisfied with the results.' Words to live by, Light. All yours."

Lightning huffs out the last of her frustration, raking back her sweaty hair and coughing over a laugh. Fresh blood is draining down to her wrist. She snatches the kit from my fingers, swipes her hand on her pants again, and tears off a piece of adhesive tape with her teeth.

She is a beautiful disaster.

My heart leaps into my throat when she finally speaks.

"Thank you." Her eyes dart up to mine, heavy with all that's left unsaid. "For trying."


	2. Salutations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Woooo POV shift! Not really 'woooo' because I've mentioned before how Lightning's headspace is an emotional minefield for me to explore, but yeah. Anyway, sorry this chapter's a little shorter, as it's more of a transition, but I hope everyone enjoys. Would love to hear your feedback, questions, speculation, whatever you like! Thank you to my reviewers/commenters so far! Chapter 3 is in the works...

"Better late than never, eh Sis?"

Snow aims his Cheshire grin at me the instant I enter his glorified storage room of an office. He still has the air of a straight-laced mob boss, arms crossed over his black suit jacket as he regards the room. NORA is already here in force, engrossed in their work around a large map and a pile of unfamiliar communications equipment.

"Not as fashionably, this time," I retort, testing out my modified Wilderness Explorer garb with a quick stretch. At least it's more functional now. Good riddance, sleeve cuffs.

"Did we miss the party?" Hope steps inside just behind me, straightens his uniform and tries on a smile. "Survey meeting ran a little long. Sorry. She insisted on waiting for me."

Our arrival is starting to attract attention.

Lebreau stands and dusts her shorts, aiming a grin at me. "Oh, hi Lightning. Snow says you're our security escort. It's been a while, hasn't it? I don't know if you even remember us."

A while? More like a millennium.

This is awkward. I shift my stance and extend my hand. "Your faces, yes. I keep forgetting your names. It's Lebreau, right?"

"You got it," she laughs as she shakes my hand.

Nodding, I decide to give credit where it's due. "Hope told me your name, actually."

"Who's Hope?" Lebreau asks. She looks genuinely confused, and now, so am I. As close as Hope and Snow have become, and as familiar as Hope seems with his memory of NORA, I have assumed they all must be acquainted from the past.

"Um, hi," Hope says. "That would be me."

Lebreau blinks, only further confounded. "Do I know you?"

"Not… exactly." He glances back to me, apparently torn over how far to elaborate.

I shoot a deadly look of accusation at Snow. "You didn't tell them about Hope?"

"I figured a real life introduction was better," Snow counters, grinning like a fiend. "That honor is all yours, Lightning."

Mine, huh. As his… what? Partner? Lover? Supernatural trauma survival companion?

The others are all waiting, eyes darting between the two of us. I clear my throat.

"This is Hope Estheim," I force out, my voice a little too flat as I gesture at him. "You know – the former Academy Director? Built a new Cocoon for humanity to survive the apocalypse?"

They are not following. Blank looks all around. The burly flame-haired guy scrutinizes Hope's uniform for several seconds, finally managing to ask, "The Academy as in that… institute, or provisional government or whatever?"

"Heh, yeah, that's the one," Snow adds, chuckling. "Wish I could've taken you guys on some of my adventures – I knew a lot of interesting characters outside New Bodhum."

His paltry attempt to hand-wave their memory doesn't seem to have worked. In fact, Lebreau's eyes narrow at Snow with the same sort of skeptical expression I've often aimed at him myself. "Interesting characters, huh," she remarks.

Snow just shrugs, and the conversation stalls again.

"Guess you really don't know anything about Hope," I say, working to smooth over the awkward pause. "Well, what I said was the truth." Beside me, Hope grins in full appreciation of my floundering attempts, and my cheeks flare up at the amusement in his eyes.

"Guilty as charged," he says, with a quick half-bow. "Pleased to officially meet all of NORA in person, instead of just hearing Snow's tales. It's Gadot, Yuj, and Maqui, right?" he asks, looking to each of the other members in turn – I commit the rest of their names to memory. The men all nod or wave back, muttering short greetings but obviously still caught off guard and trying to get a read on him.

Lebreau raises an eyebrow at the whole situation. "Any friend of Snow's, I guess."

Hope's enthusiasm dims and he takes my hand, careful of the bandage there. "Unfortunately, I never did get to make the trip down to New Bodhum from Palumpolum, either—"

"Wait!" Maqui suddenly squeaks. He points at Hope like some circus spectacle. "You're not that kid from— from the Purge, are you? No way! You were a l'Cie with Snow!"

"Oh yeah, he had a boomerang," Yuj chimes in, cocking his head. "Right?"

"Hmph, I remember him now," Gadot says. He directs his glare at Snow and jerks a thumb at Hope. "Little shit stole my velocycle."

Lebreau does a double-take. Her eyes flit down to where Hope still has my hand, and back up to Snow. "Well, damn. Snow, is this really the whiny kid you saved?"

"Yeah, the very same," Snow laughs. He drops an arm onto Hope's shoulders, pulling him from my side. "Go easy on him."

"Thanks," Hope says, his smile returning as Snow releases him with a firm pat to the back. "I've had a few centuries to try and repay Snow for saving my life. I should've listened to Light and spared him the trouble."

"Uh, well… Looks like you guys worked it out," Maqui tries, scratching at the goggles on his head.

The silence stretches for several beats. The way the subject of Hope drops like a hot potato just cements my suspicion that Snow hasn't crossed the bridge into the Chaotic Era with NORA yet.

"Guess that's it for the introductions!" Lebreau announces, hands on her hips. "We'd better get back to work. Oh and Lightning, you'll want to familiarize yourself with the route first off." She joins Gadot again by the communications equipment, grabbing hold of a length of cable to continue daisy chaining it for storage.

Snow musses Hope's hair. "Gonna need your eyes on that map, too. You mentioned a few landmarks were missing from all the available versions."

"Overachiever," I tease.

"So I'm handy," Hope laughs, but the sound is half-hearted. He moves to the table and I trail along, joining Maqui and Yuj in their map review.

"Here, here, here and… no, there! That should do it," Maqui is saying as he takes liberties with a pencil. Upon closer inspection, he's making adjustments on an array surrounding a point on the Crossroads. "Can't really get away with more distance."

Yuj shakes his head. "Gonna disagree with you, Maq. These two," he elaborates, drawing on the map with his finger, "still have a lot of excess overlap."

"Better than a gap in coverage!" Maqui refutes. "We're starting from _nothing_. Zero infrastructure. These boxes are gonna be pushed to the limit – we'll need redundancy."

I focus on the plotted course before me, which features a few itinerary notes in the margin and estimated arrival dates. "Guess this is where we're headed," I say to no one in particular.

"Oh. Excellent," Hope still replies. He stares at the entire map for several long, tense moments of absolute stillness, his irises noticeably brightening with the effort. "There. Now I know where to find you. And which pieces this map is missing."

Maqui and Yuj gape at him. "What… just happened?" Yuj finally asks.

I dig the heel of my hand into my forehead. 'Has a god-enhanced mind' did not make my introductory cut.

There are no words for this.

"Mental snapshot," Hope explains, tapping the side of his head. He plucks the pencil from Maqui's hand, bending over the map to sketch in and label several different points in rapid succession. "Sorry – I may have reconstituted here on Earth with a few… quirks. At least I can use them to my advantage."

Okay. So there _are_ words, but they are not helpful.

Somehow, I manage to translate, "Having a supernatural memory is an improvement over deadly l'Cie curses. You'll get used to it." I cross my arms and will them to let it be.

I turn to the instigator. "And _you_ can't go tracking us into the wilderness."

"Why not?" Hope asks innocently. "Isn't that what land navigation equipped me for? Thank you, by the way."

"When exactly would you go?" I snap back. "On a summer break from diplomatic relations?"

"No, I'll go when I finish my mission before you," he challenges. His hands are in his pockets, but he smirks at me, daring me to contradict him.

Snow doubles over with a bellowing laugh. "What the hell, Hope!" he sputters. "You trying to throw down the gauntlet? Speaking from experience – _bad idea_."

"Not really," Hope replies as he places a palm on the map, turning to address Snow instead, while all of NORA clusters around the table with an air of curiosity. "A massive portion of this route has no railway access, which I can only assume is intentional, and you're hauling equipment through difficult terrain. Your team's mission is legitimately going to take longer than mine, unless I fail miserably. I don't intend to wait around here while Light is out there trekking for weeks or months more."

Shit. Naturally, he's amassing information to make a long-term plan. Even without the separation anxiety or protective instincts, this is just his way. A scene flashes through my mind of Hope bushwhacking on his own, being charged by a raging animal and choking on his blood as it puddles around him in a ravine.

This is not just my imagination. Death by vicious beast was one of his former futures.

"Look," I hiss, yanking him by the tie to face me before I can better compose myself. "I don't care whose mission is finished when. Do _not_ try to follow us out there."

Hope tilts his head. "You sure that's what you want?"

Across from us, Lebreau lets out a low whistle and nudges Gadot. "Is she gonna punch him or kiss him?"

Damn it, Hope is pushing me. His smile is too close for comfort – he makes no move to pull away. I release him and jerk backward.

Why do there have to be _people here_?

"Okay, that's enough," Snow intervenes, stepping between us. He pushes Hope into a chair. "Down, boy. I'm with Sis on this one. I don't want you tracking my team, either, and that's a direct order."

Sometimes, the big lug is a godsend.

Hope sulks in his seat. "If you insist," he concedes, his eyes flashing. "But if they run into trouble—"

"Then you'll hear it straight from me," Snow promises. "And _we'll_ track them down."

"I'll hold you to that." Hope rakes a hand through his hair, getting back to his feet. "On that note, I'm sure you all need to focus on your actual mission planning. I should get going, make some tea, maybe," he says, heading for the exit. As he opens the door, he asks, "Are you coming home soon, Light?"

"I—Yeah," I stammer. "Sure. In about an hour."

The door shuts behind him. I am losing track of the awkward silences in this place.

* * *

Despite my delay, Hope seems to have just gotten his hands on the teapot by the time I get home. As I step inside the house, immediately shucking my boots, the tension melts from his shoulders.

"Time travelling, now?" he tries. That smile is cracking. He sets the teapot on the table and sheds his tie and over-blouse, draping them carefully on a chair. "Then again, I suppose I could've lost an hour."

"You didn't miss much," I say. He means it as a joke, but his words surround a core of doubt. He is on edge when he's alone within four walls, as if he can't quite shake the sense that something waits in the shadows to take him.

The fire needs stoking, so I take over the task. "Why did you decide to use your abilities in the open like that?" I ask, not bothering to warm up to the conversation as I stab the poker into the coals. "I tried to cover for you. I don't think they were ready."

"Light, no one is ever going to _be_ ready for this," Hope sighs as he fills the kettle. "I think NORA will be a little more tolerant than most, so it's a start. I'd be waiting and hiding until the day I die if I had to fully recover to get on with my life."

He comes to me, hangs the kettle on the fire, and pries the poker from my hand to set it aside. He puts his hands on my face. "Can you just take me as a work in progress?"

Ending up with someone this recklessly accepting is a bit much for me. He does not see it as courage, but I know better.

"Of course I will," I tell him. "But you shouldn't have to care what other people think."

"Maybe I want to care."

I'll take him this way forever. With or without the uniform, the scars, or the damned god inside – I don't just love Hope. I can't prove it enough. Not in this lifetime.

His smile is so _impossible_ that I wonder if he's reading my thoughts. It reels me in and I kiss him until my mind goes foggy. My hands run away with me, through his hair, down his neck and on to tackle the top buttons of his shirt, my fingers anchoring in the fabric to pull him closer. Hope breaks away for a shuddering breath, but my lips follow a trail along his jaw and past his pulse, lingering there instead. I taste the salt-laced skin of his throat as he swallows.

All that matters is that he's alive and here, now.

Hope pants out a laugh against me. "Trying to make me feel better?"

"Is that a problem?" I don't like the tremor in my voice, but I did get a little carried away. I peel myself back, willing my body to slow down.

"No," he says, smiling reassurance. "I'm just… a little scattered. Can we have tea first?"

It's tempting to push him on this. I can win, and I have before. Easily.

There is something unresolved in his eyes, though.

His thumb smooths over my cheek. "Let's take our time, Light. Please?"

The driving force drains out of me, and I sink onto a floor cushion.

"All right," I relent. "I know there's a lot on your mind."

He joins me, lays his head on my lap, and my fingers thread into his hair. As we listen to the slight rattle of the teapot starting to boil, we watch each other, waiting. His eyes slip closed and the minutes pass. Maybe he's fallen asleep.

It feels just like a normal evening. I half expect an ocean breeze to waft right in, the way it had on the many nights we had spent together in the past few months.

Hope suddenly takes my hand and holds it over his heart. His eyes flutter open, fixing on my face again.

"I can't win," he sighs. "There's so much work to do, but I want to stay right here. Bringing this on myself is one thing. Bringing it on you doesn't sit too well. Are you—will you be okay, with all of this? How can I help?"

Damn his questions, disjointed as they are. I am underequipped, but he always insists on probing into my feelings, so I have to try.

"Your problems are still my problems," I say, struggling to face the blinding trust in the look he gives me. "I'll survive. You can help by doing the same. And writing often."

Hope cracks a smile. "You have my word – I mean, you'll have to write to me first in Augusta to let me know where to send my letters, or else I'll just be pouring my heart out to postal clerks all over the region. Anything else?"

I lean down to kiss him with a teasing nip. "Don't take forever on your tea."

* * *

The surge of people on a market day will forever catch me off guard.

Serah spots me the instant I set foot in the town center, flagging me over from where she waits just outside the masses negotiating this obstacle course for goods. We are going shopping for supplies, so help me someone-other-than-god, because I leave tomorrow and can't put it off anymore. She greets me with a crushing hug, and as I return the gesture I think about a simple, problematic fact.

This, at least, is nice. The part of me growing dependent on even the smallest gestures of physical contact – the Lumina who won't be denied – is in for a rough adjustment.

"Are you all right, Sis?" Serah asks, her smile slowly fading to worry lines as she steps back. "We can talk before we start shopping, if you want."

Shaking my head, I try to shed the thought. It sticks like stubborn lint.

"I'm fine. Let's just get started," I insist.

Serah pulls me along to navigate the marketplace, where stalls have popped up all over the town center to form a maze that vaguely reminds me of Hawker's Row. People are squeezing by each other, corralling children underfoot, and chatting loudly to be heard, but it's a sunny day and everyone seems to be in good enough spirits to forgive a few elbows.

They won't notice the way I dodge their eyes.

Taking out my list, I skim over several scrawled items. 'Fingerless gloves' catches my attention and I point this out to Serah, who leads us past several spice merchants and some enterprising person with captive hawks, to a nearby accessory shop. We step out of the bustling traffic of bodies and lean against the side of an adjacent stall, catching our breath as we wait on a large family of customers to make their selections.

"So, I take it Lina has the kids right now," I start, not quite looking at Serah.

"Yeah," she laughs. "She's a real lifesaver. I mean, I'm off work today, but we couldn't have any quality time with my needy little munchkins around."

"They are demanding. You two should really pace yourselves."

"Hey," Serah whines, giving my arm a light swat, "I'm living _my_ dream, okay? Speaking of, you weren't all that forthcoming in your letters, but… I take it you followed my advice, when you got to Crystal Cove. With Hope, that is."

Oh, I definitely did 'kiss him like I meant it.' The launch point into an off-season hurricane.

Taking a deep breath, I imagine melding into the wall for camouflage. "Look, I'm just grateful no one else has interrogated us yet. Miraculously."

"Hm, guess you're lucky Fang isn't here," Serah quips. "But this is just me. Asking my only sister about how her relationship with a certain gentleman is going."

I press a fist to my eyebrows, biting down on the inside of my cheek. Several seconds pass while I fight the urge to laugh.

"Just—" I start, snorting in spite of myself, "Just stick to Hope, please."

Serah raises an eyebrow at me. "Are you saying he's not a gentleman?"

Half the time, he's about as much a gentleman as I am a lady. I couldn't live with him if he treated me like that. But these details are close-hold.

"I'm saying he's just Hope," I sigh. "He's respectful, if that's what you're getting at."

"He better be," Serah replies. She nudges me with her shoulder. "I mean, you seem even more inseparable than before. He must be doing something right."

Smirking, I can't help but take the bait. "Yeah, he can be a real perfectionist."

"Sure he is," Serah drawls sweetly. "So where exactly do you two stand, now? Just in case I'm assuming too much. And I'm assuming a lot, by the way."

Stiffening in place, my eyes dart back to the customers nearby. The preteen among them is looking sour about the hat her mother forces onto her shock of hair. It's been literal lifetimes since my little sister cornered me over silly not-relationships in middle school, much less a real relationship.

"Serah," I groan, shading my eyes. "I never blasted you with personal questions about Snow."

"That's because you were too busy telling him off," she retorts. "And after that… Well, we didn't exactly have the opportunity."

Serah's shoulders sag, her gaze falling to the flagstones. She's right. I have failed spectacularly in the past with any kind of _normal_ sister connection, long before our centuries apart, and the thought needles me – my relationship with Hope is at least worth talking about.

"Okay, I'm sorry," I say. "I know you're just playing catch-up after I was gone all winter. I'll try to make it up to you."

Turning to face me, she brightens immediately, the smallest grin lighting up her face.

"As for where I stand with Hope…" I stall, snatching at words in my mind that don't quite cover the territory. There are facts, and then there is the way my insides are currently coiling around themselves.

Running a hand through my hair, I sigh in frustration and swallow the lump in my throat. "I'm doomed, Serah. I don't think it's possible to get closer to him, in _every_ sense. And I'm not ready to let him go out there alone."

I'm not ready to be alone again, either.

She is staring at me with her big, soulful eyes, and I feel too exposed but somehow relieved at the same time. After a moment, she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and turns away, seeming to look straight through the falconer's shop across the lane. She toys with the pendant around her neck.

"I've been there, Sis. Really. He isn't going alone, though, right?"

"He has a team, but I'd rather be with him myself," I explain. "To keep him safe. It's not just about skill or strength – it's about anticipating his actions."

"Well, have you met his team?" she asks.

"No, but—"

Serah gives me a pleading look. "How can you judge them if you don't know them? I know it hurts to be apart, especially now, but don't you trust Hope?"

"Hope is his own worst enemy," I huff. "He puts too much faith in other people and expects too much of himself. It's a one-way ticket to a noble death. Trust me."

"The alternate timelines, you mean?" Serah reaches for my hand, tentatively latching on. "That's… that's what happened with you the other day, isn't it? Look, no matter what could have been, Hope survived. Snow was there – he remembers."

"Yeah," I say, my skin prickling from a sudden chill. "He told me what happened."

She shifts uncomfortably against the wall. "Snow doesn't like to go into the details. It sounded like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from."

There at the end, it was hell for Snow. But I can't guess at how much she knows, beyond the fact that he did turn Cie'th. It's not my place to give away his secrets.

"Some of it was. Every once in a while, I recognize faces from that time and I avoid them," I admit, shame seeping into me even as I scan the crowd in case one of those tormented souls might catch me off guard.

"I just don't know what I should say."

There's more, and it hits me as I take a deep breath of the market air, a sharp mix of sweat, bird droppings, spices and evergreen. People unapologetically living their lives.

"Maybe they don't know what to say, either."

Serah squeezes my hand and lets go, her smile heavy with understanding. She adjusts the bag on her shoulder.

"Well, I think it might help if you met Hope's survey team before heading off on this mission," she says. "Maybe try putting a little faith in them _and_ yourself. You could practice out here in town."

I roll my eyes. "I think I practiced with NORA a couple of days ago, but sure."

"Oh, I'm so glad you're going to be with them!" she gushes for what has to be the tenth time this week, clasping her hands together. "How did that go?"

"I had to relearn all their names, I failed at introducing Hope, and we narrowly avoided rehashing our traumatic pasts," I deadpan.

"So… it was awkward?" Serah tries. She bites her lip, and I curse myself for putting a large crack in her mental picture of us all having a big, happy family kumbaya.

I rub at my temple, wishing I could rub away the memory. "It could've been worse."

"Did you introduce Hope as your boyfriend?"

The term irks me, and I snap, "I wouldn't insult him like that."

"How is that an insult?" Serah asks, her face drawn with confusion.

"Being with me is not what I'd call his most impressive trait," I try to explain, slouching against the wall. "He's a brilliant scientist who ensured the survival of humanity _without_ any god-given powers. I wish I could've put that into words at the time."

Serah shrugs. "So he's an impressive person. Snow is still my husband, and you're still my sister. I don't go around referring to you by your legendary titles. And I don't think Hope's résumé or your social skills are the real issue, here."

"Then what is?" I ask wearily.

"Next up!" the shopkeeper calls, her voice crashing through our conversation.

Jerking into motion, I approach the middle of the counter as the toolbelt-clad woman on the other side turns to restock a few items. I shake off the tension in my limbs and skim over the merchandise, my eyes landing on a pair of black fingerless gloves with reinforced palms that look the right size. Picking them up, I pull one on to try.

"O-oh!" A dull thud follows the exclamation. I snap my head up to the sound. The shopkeeper stares back at me, supporting herself against the table she's apparently backed into. A couple of stacks of hats and belts have toppled to the ground.

My eyes dart down and back up to her face. "Do you need help?" I ask.

"No, no, it's fine!" she says, the pitch of her voice normalizing as she laughs and stoops to pick up her wares. Finally recovering, she rests her arms on the counter as a smile stretches her face. "Been a while since I've seen _you_ at my shop. What'll it be?"

"Just these," I say, handing over the chosen pair. She does look somewhat familiar, and a memory comes to me of dragging my niece on a sled, a wrinkled list from Serah, a beanie for Snow. Hope battling me over replacing his gloves.

"I'm… sorry for startling you."

"What? Don't be silly," she laughs again. "You're my customer, same as anyone. It's Lightning, right?"

"Yeah," I say, surprise overtaking my face. Turning to Serah, as if I need a witness to this oddly normal exchange, I'm met with her knowing grin.

I look back to the shopkeeper. "This is my sister, Serah."

"Nice to meet you," Serah pipes up.

"Name's Andi," the shopkeeper replies as she slides the packaged gloves back toward me. "And these are on the house. Let's just say I owe you one, for getting _my_ sister out of that cult last year. Any idiot can see you're not looking for crazy fans."

"Oh. Thank you." Blinking rapidly, I hesitate before taking the merchandise. Accepting this small gesture feels entirely foreign, even more so for putting a stop to a cult that was worshipping _me_.

As I finally tuck the gloves into my pouch, I find myself adding, "But next time, I'm buying them."

Her grin grows impossibly wider. "Guess that means you'll have to come back. Appreciate the business!"

Nodding, I give a tentative wave and turn to leave. Serah is hot on my heels. Her enthusiasm practically radiates against my back.

"Calm down, Serah," I say, half-turning as we flow along with the stream of people. "Now I know how low you've set the bar for me."

"Oh shut it," she scolds, trying not to laugh. " _You're_ setting the bar too high. Give yourself a break."

* * *

In addition to insisting that Hope take Heaven's Cloud on his trip – because he might as well have an nigh-indestructible sword in my absence – I decide to take Serah's advice about meeting Hope's team later that afternoon.

She thinks this will put my mind at ease.

I think I'll make enough of an impression to keep everyone on their toes.

Sazh knows the way and leads me around the rail yard, stopping us at a point in line of sight from one of many boxcar 'offices.' Hope is back in his field gear, standing just outside and talking to a single soldier in an older-style Guardian Corps uniform.

"Now, you can wipe off your divine judgment face before we go any further," Sazh warns me. "Captain Amodar made the selections himself, and I'm plenty satisfied with that."

Narrowing my eyes, I grumble, "This isn't a divine judgment face. Soldiers size each other up all the time. If they can't handle it, we have bigger problems."

Sazh heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Just be civil. Give 'em a chance."

I nod and march ahead of him, maneuvering over sets of tracks and around bizarre-looking machinery. Sazh veers off to a different section of the rail yard, leaving me with a wave.

As I approach, Hope is mid-conversation and does not immediately spot me.

"I appreciate you taking the time to brief me, Sergeant – I'll be sure to thank the captain when I see him," Hope says, cocking his head slightly. "But I've missed something, here. What's your name? And your squad members' names?"

"Most of us go by callsigns, Sir," the soldier explains. His voice, despite being slightly muffled in the helmet, strikes me as belonging to someone I know from months of watchtower shifts. "I'm afraid protocol only allows for your interaction with me, to avoid any chain of command confusion. You can just call me by rank, or—"

"Glitch!" I call, finally remembering. "I take it you're leading the security detail."

He turns to me, flipping his visor up to expose his dark eyes rolling in their sockets. "If it isn't the almighty Lightning Farron. Knew it was only a matter of time before you showed up."

"You go by Glitch?" Hope asks, tapping his chin as he considers this before turning to me. "Not that either of us have a leg to stand on, in the names department."

The sergeant chuckles at Hope, but he levels me with a hard stare. "So, are you here to call me on the carpet, Savior style? It's not my fault the captain assigned you elsewhere."

"Never said it was," I reply flatly. "I'm just here to meet the team."

"Well, you know me, and you know I take pride in my work," he retorts.

Memories flash through my mind about this soldier. They are hit or miss, but I have no complaints on his work ethic or combat skills. He mentioned once, on some cold night around the fire grate, that he was a survivor from Cocoon's fall, still working with the Corps in the aftermath – or so he pieced together from fragments of memory.

He didn't remember his real name or how he died. Only his callsign and the Corps.

Others on the border patrol have similar tales. Tales so different from my own, because of _my_ actions. I sense that rift between us, cutting off any chance of deeper camaraderie.

Hope clears his throat, and I snap out of my stare-down with Glitch.

"I'd be happy to introduce you _both_ to my survey team," Hope offers, flagging us toward the half-open sliding door of the boxcar. "This way."

Obviously, the entire team is not here – I am tracking maybe ten people, from Hope's accounts, and there are only three in the space.

We step inside and two very familiar faces lock on to me in tandem. Their filter masks are pulled down under their chins, exposing their dropped jaws.

"Lightning?" Biggs stammers, mystified.

"Lightning!" Wedge cries, his hands shooting into the air. "I knew we'd cross paths in the next world! Heard you're still kickin' ass and taking down cults."

Biggs recovers and grins wide. "Sorry that Wedge and I haven't exactly been around. I did promise we'd find better employment than death by gauntlet, and I guess frontier survey's a close enough second! We're both survey techs, now. But hey, what brings you over to our humble railcar?"

This is all more than a little jarring. "Just meeting Hope's team. It's good to see you both."

"Wait a sec," Wedge starts. He side-eyes Hope, who raises an eyebrow at the incoming question. "You two know each other?"

Hope shrugs at the remark. "Actually, I've known Light for a really long time—"

"And now I'm his girlfriend," I state, not entirely sure what has possessed me to rip off that bandage here and now. The term tastes strange in my mouth, and based on the beat of startled silence from the group, it has sounded just as weird.

Damn it, Serah.

"Th-that too, yes." Hope rubs at the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing at the admission.

"Smooth, Chief," the third team member in the room finally says. She gives Hope and the others a look of exasperated disbelief before turning to me with a knowing smile and a swish of her ponytail. "I'm Jessie, your resident mine surveyor. We've never met, but I may have seen your name on outgoing mail. I've heard plenty about you, too."

I shake her extended hand. "Nothing too incriminating, I hope."

"Nah, all good things," she says, winking. "And don't worry about Hope – took some time, but he won us all over. We've got his back."

"No offense, but I think that's technically my job," Glitch suddenly counters, at which Biggs laughs and holds out his hand for a fist-bump. The sergeant stares dubiously at the offer for a moment before pounding it.

"I'm Biggs, by the way, Sarge." He slings an arm around his counterpart. "And this is Wedge."

"Just Glitch is fine."

"Sweet," Biggs says. "Welcome to your best and most challenging assignment."

Hope is just shaking his head. "Okay, guys. You know I'm not so helpless these days, right? I didn't just laze about the entire off-season. I trained with Lightning."

"Ha, well it shows," Wedge remarks. "My nicknames were getting old, anyway. Now our caterpillar Chief has emerged as a butterfly." He takes a comically grand bow toward Hope, whose smug little smirk seems to be all the comeuppance he needs.

"Seriously though – did that training teach you to _stop_ wandering off?" Jessie asks. "I figured that was part and parcel with the brooding genius bit, but here's hoping."

"Oh, that's a lost cause," I say. My sudden jump onto the bandwagon draws their eyes. I turn to Hope, searching for a compliment instead. "But your stamina's improved."

Jessie snorts, clearly reading another meaning in my words, and I realize too late that I've made a critical error. Mainly because Hope has turned a few shades too red.

"Um… thank you?" he chokes. Biggs, Wedge, and even Glitch are barely bottling their amusement. Jessie has slapped a hand over her mouth.

There is really no recovering from this, so Hope just starts laughing. The dam of tension bursts and they all join in.

I am once again out of my depth. My face is absolutely on fire.

"You're welcome," I mutter, brushing past him to leave.

Tomorrow, I'll be gone, and Hope will be teased mercilessly for months.

In spite of it all, though, I do feel better.

* * *

My ruck is packed.

I stare numbly at it – a dark, dreaded lump against the door.

Hope's heartbeat thuds beneath my cheek, slow and easy in sleep. Lifting my face, I tilt my watch toward the window and squint at the hands. I can just make out the time by moonlight between the curtains. It's almost five a.m. NORA will be ready to leave in an hour.

Last night, Hope had joked about the irony of my six o'clock departure.

But now it's time to get up.

For once, I really don't want a head start on the day. I trace my finger over the familiar scars crossing his chest and stomach, the faint pattern of lines on his pale skin prodding at the back of my mind. Not about his torture, but something else…

A chilly breeze slips in around the loosening window seal to prickle the skin of my arm. Hope shivers and turns inward, wrapping around me and tugging up the blankets. We stay in that warm, safe place for an endless stretch of minutes.

He releases a heavy breath against my neck. "You have to go, don't you?"

"I do," I say, pulling back to meet his eyes. "Don't be jealous that I'm leaving first."

Hope tries to smile, a tired and fragile gesture. He brushes back my bangs and kisses my forehead. "I won't."

His breathing catches, and I reach up instinctively. My fingers sweep through the moisture on his cheek before I bring him down to look at me.

The tears bleed out in silence. His glassy eyes search into mine, but he blurs out of focus. My throat and my lungs are burning.

Hope gathers me back to his chest. The ache runs its course as I breathe him in, over and over until I lose count, sweat and tears plastering stray pieces of hair to my face when I finally pull away.

He gives me a real, heartbreaking smile. "Are you ready now?"

"Doesn't matter," I sniff. "Are you?"

"No. But I've got plenty of experience to draw on," he says, methodically wiping at the mess on my cheeks and smoothing my hair. "There's just… more of you to miss."

His words burrow into my stomach and take root there, growing into that nauseating sensation I always get from his moments of raw honesty. I press a finger to his forehead. "Hope, you realize I'm pretty far gone too, right? No thanks to you."

"Forgive me?" he asks, his grin a little melancholy. He takes hold of my hands. "Seriously, Light. I'm yours."

He seals it with a kiss, dragging my latent thoughts to the surface when he pulls back.

"What should I call you?" I mutter. "Serah used the term 'boyfriend' and it sounded ridiculous."

"I don't care," Hope laughs. "Maybe just partner for life? Or a few lifetimes. I'll marry you right here and now to give everyone else a sense of permanence, if you want."

"No complaints on the venue," I tease. "But I think an officiant and witnesses are required, genius."

He kisses me again. "Well, we do have one permanent uninvited guest who also happens to be God. Close enough?"

" _Ugh_ , Hope…" I grab my pillow and smack it over his face, unable to keep from chuckling at his morbid sense of humor, but I catch sight of my watch and freeze. "Damn it. Time's up."

"I'm on the coffee!" Tossing the covers, he hops out of the bed before me, nearly trips over my ruck and heads straight out the door naked.

"You'll freeze your ass off!" I shout.

His laugh rings back at me. "Feel free to check up on that!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-roomie continues to be at it (shorter chapter, but still...). Enjoy :)
> 
> \- When Lebreau has no clue who Hope is: Having read your entire other series where everyone is super best friends, this hurts my heart T_T
> 
> \- After Hope tries to wave away his abilities as 'quirks': Lol I love this explanation that explains nothing XD Maqui, later on in the background: "I'm just saying, why didn't I get super powers? T_T"
> 
> \- When Lightning thinks that she could easily talk Hope out of tea: Wow Lightning is horny af right now, isn't she? XD
> 
> \- After Lightning's remark asking for help from someone-other-than-god: Lightning: the most belief-driven atheist in the universe.
> 
> Rando: "wait, you don't believe God exists?"
> 
> Lightning: "no, I know he exists, but he's an asshole, so fuck believing in him."
> 
> \- On Serah's comment about how she's living her dream: Oh honey. I absolutely get it, but no one needs dreams of screaming toddlers. I'm sure you get enough of that irl
> 
> Alternatively: she dreams of Snow's dick & doesn't appreciate Lightning judging her sexual freedom XD
> 
> \- After the 'perfectionist' remark: Ah yes, the middle of a crowded market. Perfect place to talk about your boyfriend's perfectionist sex habits. XD
> 
> \- When Lightning tells Serah about the awkward NORA intro and such: None of this has to do with your relationship with him, Lightning, omg. Your sister is right x1000. Y'all two have never had the define-the-relationship talk and it SHOWS
> 
> Lightning: "I can't introduce him as my boyfriend because he's too incredible for that"
> 
> Me: "you sound like a 12-year-old girl with her first crush, jfc. Just call him your boyfriend like a gd adult and move on."
> 
> Lightning: "but that doesn't capture our shared trauma together"
> 
> Me: "fine, call him your husband, then."
> 
> ([at me, Hthar] yes I am teasing your married ass ;P )
> 
> \- When Lightning asks the shopkeeper if she needs help: "Are you choking? Are you pregnant? I CAN HELP"
> 
> \- After Lightning says she hopes to keep everyone on their toes: Lightning, fully decked out in battle regalia, weapons gleaming and at the ready: "LISTEN UP YOU LITTLE SHITS. [sees Hope] Not you, Hope. You're an angel and we're thrilled you're here. But for the REST OF YOU – let me make this clear. I've only had Hope for 1,000 years, but if anything happens to him, I will kill everyone in this room and then myself. Ya get me?"
> 
> Everyone else: [horrified silence]
> 
> Hope: "…..so anyway, here's our route…"
> 
> (Quotes from B99 and Parks & Rec)
> 
> \- When Sazh says for Lightning to wipe off her divine judgment face and she denies it: Girl, your entire existence is a divine judgment face.
> 
> \- Because Biggs' and Wedge's filter masks were pulled down: Do you want COVID? Bc THAT'S HOW YOU GET COVID
> 
> \- When Lightning asks Hope if he realizes she is pretty far gone: Maybe he would know if you would DEFINE THE RELATIONSHIP, LIGHTNING.
> 
> \- After Lightning does ask what she should call him: Seriously, you're doing this at 5am right before you leave? Like, good job, I'm proud that you're taking the step, but STILL JUDGING YOU.


	3. Significance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So sorry for the wait! Things have been all over the place :P Please do review or comment - it's always a HUGE encouragement and can help me gauge the direction of this tale! Thank you to everyone who has been following so far :) Anyway, here are a couple of important notes:
> 
> \- Theodolite: a key piece of survey equipment used to accurately measure distance in various expeditions (including for the American transcontinental railroad) since the late 1700s.
> 
> \- Chronobind: a somewhat complex card game from Sazh's DLC in FFXIII-2.
> 
> Happy reading!

"Hope? Hope, honey."

Glancing up from my soup bowl, my mother's worry-creased face greets me.

My neck is so stiff from inactivity that it tingles, the sensation crawling down my spine. I should smile, I think.

So I do.

"What's wrong, Mom?"

My father clears his throat. "You've been staring at that soup for a few minutes now."

"Oh. I-I'm sorry," I stammer. I taste the broth, which has started to cool, and try a couple of spoonfuls before giving up. "Not really hungry, that's all."

Mom pushes the rolls toward me anyway. "What time do you leave tomorrow?"

"Noon," I say, dutifully picking up a roll. "We should be back by summer, at least. I'm sorry the turnaround has been so sudden. Maybe I could have negotiated—"

"Son, _stop_ apologizing," Dad interjects.

I fumble with my roll and drop it into the soup, splattering broth on the front of my shirt. His eyes are hard, but something about the set of his mouth makes me wonder if he's trying not to cry.

Clearly, he's been keeping a few burdens to himself. The outburst unnerves me.

"…Dad?"

He takes a breath, pushes his glasses up slightly. "You have _nothing_ to apologize for. You have a mission, and you're going to make us proud whether you succeed or fail – which is honestly a matter of opinion. For now, just do your mother a favor and take some food with you."

Mom stands on cue. She comes around with an extra napkin and strokes my hair in passing. "I'll pack it up. We know you've had a rough day."

"Thank you," I say again, my voice thick, as if the words could ever do justice to the incredible trust they have placed in me. "I can't say it enough."

* * *

My parents smile and wave goodbye from the front steps. Mustering all my remaining energy, I return the gesture as I head out through the mostly deserted town, paper bag in hand. Now, my reserve has worn away, leaving me shivering and exposed. I pull my jacket tighter around me, fighting to ignore the wind that shudders through the treetops, their outlines sharp against the dying gradient of daylight where the moon starts to rise. There is nothing calming or pleasant in it, for me.

A clock tolls somewhere in the town center. It drives me further, faster.

My scars itch as I pass by the woods near the river, along this path to an empty house that looms at my destination. No one stands between me and the ghosts lurking in my mind. Not tonight.

Reason pushes back with options and outs – to stay with my parents, with Sazh or Snow, or even just camp out in the rail yard. But all of it sounds like running, and I refuse to be this pathetic and weak and small. If Bhunivelze decides to make his grand reappearance, to prey on me at my lowest, I would rather face him on my own terms.

Still, I have miscalculated the terror of anticipation.

The thought of spending the night alone in this house, my defenses full of holes…

Lightning's front door comes into view, and my stomach tightens so violently that it halts my steps, makes me struggle for breath and will my miniscule dinner back down. My pulse is throbbing in my ears and my hand shakes so badly it's a wonder I get the door open. I stumble inside to an unexpected warmth.

Someone has made a fire.

I am _not_ alone. The relief is so overwhelming and sudden that my knees go weak.

"Heya, Hope." Snow's smile turns down quickly when our eyes meet. I back the door closed and slide to the floor, pressing my free hand to my face.

In three strong strides he is there, hauling me up to my feet.

"What are you doing here?" I mumble against his sweater. He steps away and releases me, tentatively, to stand on my own. He pokes my stained shirt.

"Someone's gotta pick you up," he shrugs, hands returning to his pockets. "You're a wreck. No offense."

Sighing heavily, I shed my jacket, drag myself over to the table and deposit the food bag.

"None taken."

He follows me and plops into a chair. "Feel like talking it out?"

"No."

"Wanna knock it out, then?" He pulls items from a bag I hadn't noticed on the floor and thunks them onto the table.

The amber bottle and the corresponding tiny, weighted glasses are too familiar.

"Oh no," I groan, dropping into a chair to plant my head on the wooden table surface. "Kill me now."

Snow's laugh rumbles through the room. "Not gettin' off that easy. You have no idea how much wheeling and dealing I had to do to track this thing down. Won't be quite as strong as Fang's but a _lot_ more palatable."

"Why must you torment me?" I whine against the table.

"More like spare you a miserable night," he says. "You're the one who leaked your little theories about what might be deterring Bhunivelze. Obviously some of that's, uh, squarely in Lightning's territory, but I'm not one to pass up getting a god drunk off his ass in the name of science. I'd spite him for you on a daily basis if I could."

"Daily?" Rolling my head to the side, I narrow my eyes at his smirk.

"Well yeah," he laughs, smacking a fist into his other palm. "Maybe weekly. Monthly? How often can I spite him?"

"Snow, do you know what you get when you turn a psychological dumpster fire into an alcoholic?"

He props his chin in one hand. "Is this a trick question?"

"You get a _non-functioning_ psychological dumpster fire," I deadpan.

"That's fair," he concedes, pushing one of the glasses toward me. "Let me just help you out tonight, then. For old times' sake. You'll thank me later."

"I won't thank you in the morning," I grumble, pushing against the edge of the table to sit up in spite of myself.

Snow pops out the cork and pours the golden liquid into our glasses. "Y'know, Hope, you've racked up a lot of unhealthy tendencies in your lifetimes."

I shrug. "Had to give God a run for his gil. Are you saying 'what's one more' then?"

"I'm saying we're about to toast to your health," he says, raising his glass with a flourish. "So the worst of those tendencies are gonna die. Brace yourself."

Laughing, I can't imagine what he has in mind. I raise my glass. "Don't get sappy on me. Let's hear it."

Snow takes a dramatically long breath. "To Hope," he begins, "the true king of the world, and Etro willing, my actual brother: may your fathomless god complex and neverending guilt rot in the Unseen Realm," he declares, clinking his glass to mine.

Stunned, I just gape at him.

"What?" Snow says. "Now, you drink. Send that shit to hell."

I do toss it back, and for a momentary rush of lightheadedness I forget that my adoptive brother just called me a guilt-riddled wannabe god. But my senses return.

"Thanks, Snow," I drag out. "That was touching, until you reverted to being kind of an asshole there at the end. Do I get to return the favor?"

Grinning, he pours two more shots. "Yeah, it's only fair. But watch your language, Mr. Ambassador."

"Wow," I huff, throwing up my hands. "So you, and Light, and NORA, and basically everyone else can curse like there's no tomorrow, but if _I_ say something it becomes 'oh heavens, sweet child, your delicate sensibilities!'"

Snow leans forward to rest his arms on the table, snorting as he shakes with laughter. "Okay, okay, you are way too fun to rile up. Now where's my toast?"

"Right," I sigh. We both raise our glasses again. "To Snow, fellow king of the world, and Etro willing, my actual brother: may your undying hero complex rot in the Unseen Realm."

We drink, and he slams down his glass, his icy gaze cutting into me. "Why'd I only get one vice?"

"As far as I can tell, you only have one."

"Seriously? I _volunteered_ to be a l'Cie!" Snow retorts with a dark laugh. "I was running the pleasure cruise at the end of the world and eating five-course meals of Chaos. At least you didn't _ask_ for God to enslave you, he just… couldn't pass you up. Take the king, checkmate."

I trace a finger around the rim of my glass. "Like Light always says – I make myself such an easy target. As for you, all of those other things just came from your hero complex."

Finally, he drops his gaze and rubs at the back of his head. "Damn, we are both real pieces of work."

Nodding, I crack a weak smile. "Can we toast the ladies, now?"

Snow scoots close enough to clap me on the back, his grin returning in force.

"For sure, but this'll be a double," he laughs, refilling again. We raise our glasses.

"To Lightning and Serah," Snow says, pausing for a wistful moment, "the most incredible women in existence: long may they live, and may we both live long enough to smother them with a thousand years' worth of affection, however many reincarnations that takes. And it better be a _lot_."

Dissolving into laughter, I almost spill my drink. "Th-that was perfect," I choke at last, wiping my tears, and we down the round only to then refill and repeat. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

"Should we uh, maybe toast the new world?" Snow proposes. He folds his arms and drops his head. "After a break, I mean. Whoo boy."

As I try to think about this for a long, dizzying minute, information begins to build into a pressurized force behind my eyes. I press back with my thumb and forefinger. Somehow, the hilarity of our existence surfaces through the dense fog in my brain.

"You've got no idea what you're toasting, with that one," I laugh. Snow regards me lazily from his resting place.

"It's a world," he slurs. "A crazy rock full of people who can make babies and die as nature intended. What else is there to know?"

I spread my arms wide, a manic burst of pride growing in my chest, and grin as I rattle off, "This is one unbelievably crazy rock in a whole _galaxy_ of beautiful, deadly things. Earth is orbiting a yellow dwarf star along with seven other insanely uninhabitable planets, and down here, we live on top of a thin crust containing a molten layer of magma that can explode up through volcanoes—"

Snow smothers my mouth. "Whoa there, bro," he laughs. "Take a breather before you actually make my head spin. I didn't get half the words you just said. Plus your eyes are all glowy."

"My—my eyes?" I sputter, shoving his arm away and vigorously rubbing my face. The earlier pressure falters at my sudden pause. "Did it stop?"

"Yeah, it's died down. Kinda trippy when I'm not sober, though."

The toast forgotten, Snow pushes himself back from the table and pats around his pockets, pulling out a deck of cards. "Get yourself some water," he orders. "I'll set us up for a little Chronobind."

"Don't tell me you've been hiding a whole clock board and two extra people under your hoodie," I snort, tugging at his sleeve. He shakes me loose and points to the sink again.

"Water, Hope. We're gonna play a light version for two players without the shitty clock."

"Light has a version?" I muse, tipping my head back to the ceiling. "She _hates_ cards."

"Okay buddy, you need to stop talking for a few minutes." Reaching over, he turns my chair away from the table and toward the sink, pulls me up from the seat, and walks me the few steps required. He plants a glass in my hands. "Drink. Water. Now."

Somehow, I fill my glass under the tap and make it back without spilling. Snow deals the cards – the flash of their lacquered surfaces is mesmerizing. He tries a few times to explain the simplified rules, and I nod back dully.

Of course, in the end, I am screwed. Lacking any use of my strategies for a standard four-player game and deprived of most of my wits anyway, I lose a grand total of twenty rounds before he declares indisputable victory.

"Well Snow, I am eternally grateful we didn't place any bets," I laugh, the sound bleeding into a yawn as I slide down in my seat. "I guess you really do care."

"That curb-stomping was its own reward. I should get you drunk every time we play this," he retorts, yawning in response and rubbing at the back of his neck. "You might, uh, be a little further gone than I planned for, though."

Snow stands and sways a tad before steadying himself. He helps me up, and we stagger over to the fireplace, collapsing onto the floor cushions.

I plant my face into one of them. "I should go to bed," I sigh.

"You can try," Snow says, sprawling over three cushions and still mostly on the rug. "I'm stayin' right here. How're you feeling?"

"Spinny," I say, breathing into the cushion. "Don't wanna move again. This… this one smells like _Light_."

"In a good way?" Snow mutters, sounding half-asleep.

"Mm, always." I flop onto my back, staring up at the exposed beams shifting in the firelight across my hazy vision. "Like she just burned through the atmosphere and fell out of a storm. God, I love her so much it hurts."

Warmth tingles through my chest. Distantly, I know tomorrow morning will be brutal.

Snow chuckles and reaches over, shaking my shoulder. "You are a lost cause. And a sap."

I throw an arm over my eyes, pushing his hand away with half-hearted force. "Takes one to know one, asshole."

* * *

"Chief!"

Jessie is yelling at me from somewhere in the rail yard. I look up from my clipboard and scan the windswept platform, but she's nowhere in sight. Rubbing at the ache that radiates between my eyebrows, I go back to checking our inventory as the team finishes loading up gear and supplies.

Wedge walks by the with theodolite assembly, and I mark that one off.

"Hey Chief," he says, leaning against the tripod for a quick break as he swipes at the hair blowing into his face. "Sal dropped off the revised map. He said to thank you for the inputs, but that if you correct one of his copies again he will castrate you. That, and I quote, 'I don't care how damn nice his handwriting is!'"

"Thanks," I chuckle at the message, immediately regretting it when my stomach roils. I slap my hand down on the clipped papers as another gust of wind attacks. "I'll take that under advisement."

The left-handed print decorating Sal's incomplete map is not, strictly speaking, _my_ handwriting after all.

Glitch and his squad board the train immediately after Wedge, their rucks in tow. The sergeant salutes as he passes, leading a file of his nearly indistinguishable squad members in their matching uniforms and helmets. We should be set to go, but something is itching at the back of my mind—

"Chief!" Jessie huffs in exasperation, having materialized right next to me. She catches her breath and thrusts a garment bag in my face. "You left this… in the office. Said it was _super_ important."

I blink at the garment bag, curling my fingers around it as my mind trudges through a bog of information. "Oh. _Oh_ , my uniform." A wave of panic comes and goes. I swallow it down and laugh nervously. "You're a lifesaver."

Jessie just shakes her head. "Honestly, I don't see why you need a fancy uniform to talk to people."

"It's not that fancy," I shrug. "We used to do survey work in the same ensemble. But this is my only set, and the last time I checked, we don't have dry cleaning service in the field. Or my mom."

"Aw," Jessie teases. She moves to pinch my cheek but I swat her away. "That's precious. Did your mom always help with your uniforms?"

"No," I say tiredly. I add 'uniform' to the list and check it off. "She was dead."

Jessie stares, brown eyes mortified. "I am so sorry. Damn, that went south fast."

"Don't be sorry," I say. "Most of the population was dead. We're doing swell, now."

She stands back and plants her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, if by that you mean low-key living with PTSD," she charges, scrutinizing my face. "Did you even sleep?"

I drape the uniform over my arm and rub at the back of my neck. "Yes," I sigh, shoving the hair back from my eyes to squint at the checklist again. "I'm just a little hung over."

"Oh my _god_." Jessie chokes back a laugh. She dances in place for a moment and looks around. "I've gotta go get Biggs."

"Please don't," I groan. An audience of one is more than enough, even with those who have seen me at a number of low points.

"No no, you don't understand," she says, finger raised in determination. "He's got a killer hangover remedy. You just sit tight."

With that, she bolts off down the platform, ponytail flying.

I don't see her again for the better part of thirty minutes. By that time, preparations are complete, the engine has rumbled to life, and any stragglers have climbed aboard the train. When Jessie finally does turn up, she all but sprints by and leaps into the railcar with a wave, Biggs huffing behind her. He shoves a canteen at me.

"Drink that! You'll thank me later!" he promises. He snatches my garment bag and climbs aboard, leaving no time for even a response. Against my better judgment, I take a sip of the tonic and immediately wince – whatever this cure is, I'm not sure if my stomach will allow me to take it.

Still, it's not like I have any better options.

I grab the scabbard with Heaven's Cloud and sling it across my body, finally hoisting myself onto the train. We've said our goodbyes to the Crossroads, but I hover near the door as the engine jerks us into motion. The whistle sounds, shrill and final.

If all goes well, we'll be home soon.

* * *

An hour into the ride, I make my way to the open observation deck. It's always a prime location to be alone with my thoughts. Leaning against the boarded side of the car, I tip back the canteen to drain the dregs of Biggs' hangover remedy.

The bitter, herb-laden sludge is far too bracing to handle much at once, but it seems to help. I'm reminded again of how Lightning had been convinced that these people were set on dumping me in the wilderness. We certainly didn't have much patience for each other at first, to be fair.

It's surprising how people can change.

"Excuse me." I turn to the sudden voice. A man in a Guardian Corps uniform is standing just down from me, the sound of his arrival covered by the blustery wind. After a cursory glance around, he removes his helmet.

Behind half-rimmed glasses, his blue eyes dart from my face to the door of the next car, then back to me. He seems familiar, and I wonder if it's just the combination of his deadly serious expression with the glasses reminding me of my father.

"I don't mean to intrude," he says. "Full disclosure, I know I'm not supposed to be here, but I was hoping to talk to you."

"Oh," I laugh, shaking my head. "This is about the squad protocol. Look, I don't really care. If you're worried about getting in trouble, it won't be because I turned you in."

He takes one last look at the door, but cracks a smile. "I am your observer, though, so this is doubly problematic. I'm not a soldier by trade. In fact, you could say I already know you, Director."

"What?" Stunned momentarily, it occurs to me that this person might be a fellow scientist or researcher. My mind cranks into a higher gear, trying to figure this out. He is older than me – probably around my _actual_ age, with black hair tied back against the wind. Maybe a contemporary from the Academy?

"Where – or when, I guess – do you know me from?" I stammer.

Casually, he props himself back against the side of the observation car. "I knew you after 500 AF. We weren't really acquainted, though I did admire your work like any other scientists worth their salt. I don't expect you to recognize me from those dark days," he explains. "I was nowhere near close enough to pick your brain, back then, but here we are. Call me opportunistic."

"You might be disappointed," I admit, my stomach sinking. "I'm not much without the rest of the Academy. They all sacrificed themselves to make my dream a reality."

His eyes sharpen with a crystalline resolve. "Your dream? No, you had a _vision_. An audacious one, at that."

"I assume you lived to see it fall apart, though," I say. I fold my arms on the edge, watching the trees scratch up at the sky. "Or worse, died in the process."

"Does it really weigh that much on you?" he asks. "All the people who died along the way? You gave them purpose, even if the destruction from Chaos was inevitable – and believe me, we all knew it was. Besides, your Savior brought them back, in the end."

"She was your Savior too, you know," I mutter. "Not just mine."

He shrugs. "More yours than anyone else's, right? Or so I've gathered."

Blushing, I shoot him a questioning look.

He adjusts his glasses, chuckling lightly. "I'm an observer, remember? I don't miss much. It's something of a lifelong curse turned full-time job these past few years. Not that seeing you two together is even _remotely_ avoidable," he says.

I have to laugh along as I drag a hand over my face. He has a point. We haven't exactly been discreet over the years. My mind travels back to a time when she served as my personal escort through town – in the Savior's Equilibrium garb, no less.

"It's certainly been a point of contention," I sigh. "Can you blame me, though?"

"Ha, I guess not," he says. "But you don't seem to be particularly happy with the state of things right now. Even I can see that, after only a few days on this assignment."

My fingers rake against my scalp, drawing suppressed frustrations to the surface. "Of course I'm not happy. Yes, I am grateful that we all made it to this world, but while some people may be getting a new lease on life, plenty more are starving in the wilderness or creating religions or-or so confused they don't know where to turn. It's such a mess."

Honestly, I could expound further, but I hesitate. The jury is still out regarding how much I can trust an observer assigned by Rosch, long-time fan of mine or not.

"Isn't this your strong suit, though?" he asks, and I face him again, perplexed. "Making order out of chaos, I mean."

I look down at my hands. "I'd rather not fail everyone again. This will take time."

"That's progress for you, Director." He pushes off from the side of the car, hands in his pockets, and half-smiles at me. "One survivor to another, you have my support, whenever you need it. I should go for now, though, before I make any trouble for either of us."

Nodding, I laugh a little at the strangeness of the entire interaction. "Thank you. I hope we can talk again, um... wait, I can't get your name, can I?"

"Ah, no," he replies, looking chagrined. "Glitch is pretty strict about that protocol."

"Can I at least get your callsign?"

He grins at the loophole. "Oh, that would be Specs. Border patrol naming conventions can be a little unimaginative."

He turns to leave, pulling his helmet back on and heading toward the exit. Just then, the train rounds a sudden bend, smoke whipping into my eyes and mouth. After practically hacking up a lung, I look around and find myself alone again.

* * *

The sun dips closer to the western horizon, orange and red hues blending down to the rust of jagged canyon lands. As the train begins to meander its way through steeper sections of sheer rock, any signs of human life fall away – no campfire smoke, cleared plots, or hints of paths from the tracks cross my view. We passed the last farming village nearly an hour ago.

Minutes later, Glitch comes to the observation car on his way through another security sweep. "We're about twenty minutes from Augusta, Sir. Any concerns from the trip, or for my squad, before we disembark?"

"Are you required to wear your helmets on duty?" I ask him in lieu of greeting. "I don't mean to pry – just curious if you're allowed to go without it."

He comes to a halt, shakes his head, and removes the thing. "Only the rest of the squad is required to wear them, but I still do it out of habit. Why does it matter?"

"It's easier to talk to people when I can see their faces," I say with a shrug. The idea of nameless, faceless people sacrificing themselves for me is a sickening concept, but I can't voice that fact. The best I can do is to study them.

In an attempt to alleviate my discomfort, I take a flash of a moment to memorize Glitch's dark face and the row of colorful beads braided against the side of his head.

"Any significance to the beads?" I ask, hoping this might open a conversational door.

My words stagnate in the air.

By Glitch's unchanging expression, I get the feeling that this discussion is dead on arrival. He crosses his arms in a familiar guarded stance. "With all due respect, Sir, you ask some strange questions," he says.

An apology is on my tongue, but my father's words ring in my ears and I swallow it back. "That's fair," I laugh instead. "You can just call me Hope, by the way – I'm not your superior and I'm not acting in official capacity right now."

"I guess that's fair, too," he replies, cracking the barest hint of a smile before he gestures toward the adjacent railcar entrance. "Right now, we just need to get back inside the train before we're too far into the canyon."

"Why is that?" I've been in this canyon before. Camped in it, in fact.

"Safety precaution. Just let me do my job, _Hope_ ," Glitch scoffs. As we approach the door, I gaze up at the veined wall of rock just ahead of our position. A shift in the light catches my eye and I pause, puzzling at three darker outlines interrupting the sediment pattern.

"Hey, are those—?"

"Get down!"

Glitch flattens me to the deck just as a projectile smashes against the forward wall of the observation car, bursting into a cloud of vapor right in front of us. He leaps back up and I roll sideways to my feet, both of us coughing harshly. My eyes are ablaze and I swear my entire face is trying to melt off, sinuses emptying like faucets – I can barely make out the humanoid blobs that land front of us. Glitch draws his weapon, and I follow suit.

"Stay _back_ , Hope!" he shouts from my right.

But one of them has charged, his blurred blade arcing toward us. Without thinking, I block the blow with Heaven's Cloud and the other weapon shatters against it. Its wielder stumbles back, scrambling for the other door. Nearby, I hear the clash of metal as the sergeant fights on.

"Stop!" I call out, lunging to tackle the unarmed bandit from behind and hooking my arm around his neck. We topple, skid across the wooden planks and he writhes, kicking to no avail and clawing at my arm as I lock it in place. It only takes one shot to clamp down on the carotid artery, the maneuver second nature after Lightning's endless training.

He passes out in less than twenty seconds. I shove myself up from his limp form and stand on shaky legs, wheezing for breath while my eyes and nose still stream fluids. Glitch is just tossing aside a captured weapon in my periphery as he backs one bandit to the door, their hands raised.

"On your knees!" Glitch commands. He swipes an arm over his face and spits furiously at the deck.

The third one is lying opposite us, cradling a bloody leg. I retrieve my sword and sheathe it. Crossing to the injured person, I motion for them to stay down.

My eyes haven't recovered enough to properly gauge the leg wound, but I pull a rolled cloth strip from my utility belt to wrap around the bloodiest area.

"Get back!" she hisses, trying to scoot away. "Are you insane? You just killed—"

" _No_ ," I counter hoarsely, coughing. Whatever they launched in our faces continues to burn. "He's just knocked out. Now stop moving."

Vaguely, the sound of a grinding door registers and someone yells, "What the hell is going on out here, Sergeant?" I glance up to see another of the security detail running by.

"Just get some restraints on this guy and that one," Glitch croaks, gesturing at the unconscious bandit. "And get medical supplies for the girl."

His eyes lock onto mine, and even through the pain and blur I sense his indignation stabbing at me. "You need to get back inside the train, Sir. _Now_."

Any options lacking, I stand to head for the door. I make it three steps before vomiting another round of mucous and canteen sludge and god knows what over the side.

Well, I've had worse days.

* * *

Daylight is all but gone by the time we fully off-load and set up camp on the outskirts of Augusta. The stars peek out, bright and sharp in the sky overhead, and I cling tightly to this familiar, breathtaking view of nature.

Which is sorely needed, because right now I'm being marched to the nearest frigid stream to wash off the remnants of the chemical agent we just encountered.

"Let's make this quick," Glitch huffs, pushing me into the trees. "This stuff burns like hell."

He's commandeered my sword, holding onto it like a trophy. He throws my ruck to me, and I glare at him until he drops his things, along with Heaven's Cloud, near a large rock several feet upstream.

"Obviously," I grumble back. It's bad enough having to strip to our underwear and scrub off in forty-something-degree water, but even less fun doing it in semi-darkness. Goodness knows what kind of insect just crawled up my leg. The one benefit is that I am _very_ much in tune with my humanity right now.

"So were you going to tell me about that crazy longsword of yours?" Glitch asks suddenly, repeatedly splashing his face. "Or was I just supposed to assume you carry around epic weapons to play hero with?"

"You didn't take a hint from the five foot scabbard on my back?" I charge.

"That is _not_ a normal-sized scabbard," he retorts. "I thought you had a tripod or something in there. And that blade looks like a cactuar-inspired torture device."

Taking a deep breath, I plunge my head into the water and come back up, gasping more from the icy shock. This is going to have to be good enough. My feet are numb and my teeth are chattering as I slosh ashore to towel off.

"L-listen," I stammer, pulling on clean clothes as fast as I can before more bugs can find me. "That s-sword is one of Light's. Got it for her in Yusnaan."

His laugh ricochets through the trees. "Of course, more Savior shenanigans! I've got to say, this is not the kind of trouble I expected from a politician's son."

"Well, what _did_ you expect?" I snap, storming over to where he's started digging a hole to bury the contaminated clothing. Pressure builds behind my eyes and he actually flinches away from me, so I know my control has slipped, but in this moment I just don't care.

"I do not need to be babysat," I say, my tone going cold. "Lightning trained and armed me because I tend to be a walking target, and survival is what she does best. So yes, her Savior shenanigans should hopefully spare you some grief and get us all home alive."

I snatch my weapon from the ground, slinging the scabbard back on, and kick my wad of ruined clothes over to the hole. "Now, I'm going to head back, if you can trust me enough on my own for two minutes. Fair?"

Glitch finally meets my eyes, hardening his gaze. "Okay, fine. But the next time I tell you to back away from hostiles, I'd appreciate some compliance."

"I'll comply, given the right circumstance," I counter. "I can't carry a massive sword into negotiations, after all. But if we're in danger, at least acknowledge that I can contribute and let me do so."

He just picks up his trowel and starts replacing the dirt over the clothes-grave. "You're pushing it, Hope. I'll _unofficially_ allow it, on one condition."

"What's that?" I ask, rubbing my arms as I head out of the trees. The camp's blazing fire-pit calls to me in the near distance.

"Just… let me borrow the weird sword sometime."

He at least has the grace to look abashed, his authoritative tone at odds with the gleam in his eyes. The abrupt shift is enough to make me stop in my tracks, eyes still mildly burning and damp hair soaking my collar. I choke out a harsh laugh that quickly turns to another fit of coughs, fresh tears of amusement cementing the ridiculous situation we've landed in.

"Sure, why not?" I offer, still laughing as I gesture magnanimously to my sword.

Glitch's answering grin is enough to assure me that we're back on good terms.

* * *

When we return, I'm surprised at the presence of two bandits practically inhaling bowls of soup by the fire-pit, some distance from where the rest of the team is eating. Their hands and feet are bound in front of them, with one of Glitch's squad standing at alert nearby.

"Get any info on them?" Glitch asks the soldier.

"None yet, Sergeant," she replies. She lowers her voice and adds, "The leader is in your tent, but he hasn't talked. Honestly, I've gotta wonder when these kids last had a decent meal."

Glitch shakes his head. "It crossed my mind. Probably for the best that on-board security was too swamped to deal with them. I doubt they'd be eating this well. We'll see what we can find out before the hand-off tomorrow – not that Augusta's security regiment will be any happier about it."

I walk past Wedge, who cheerfully fills another bowl and plants it in my hands. "I hope you're feeling up to dinner! I experimented with some new recipes over the break."

"Yes, definitely," I laugh. "Smells like you got hold of some basil." I tip it back for a taste and move around to where our unwitting guests now sit, dropping my sword and settling cross-legged onto my own patch of weeds.

Bowls down, they glance warily in my direction. A quick study of their clothing, a combination of stitched animal hide and metallic reinforcements over dark fitted fabric, makes me wonder about their origin and range of operations.

"How's your leg?" I ask the girl. She has to be younger than me – at least, physically younger than me. There aren't many people still around who could challenge my chronological age, and I consider all of them family.

Her eyes drop to the bandage wrapped just above the knee, but she doesn't reply.

The wiry young man beside her swipes a sleeve over his mouth, then spits back instead, "You might as well stop acting like any of you give a damn whether we live or die. I know a last meal when I see one."

"If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it earlier," I say, tapping the hilt of the sword beside me. "No sense letting lives go to waste, though. I hate that I had to choke you out, I really do. But you were going for my team next."

" _Your_ team?"

The surprise on his face is at least more muted than I've been accustomed to over the years, but remains stubbornly in place. He only appears to be in his early twenties himself. I just smile right through.

"Yes," I say with a tired laugh. "My name's Hope Estheim, and you've, uh, 'dropped in' on my survey team."

Suddenly, the girl goes pale. In my years on this world, I have yet to encounter someone who is _not_ bothered by something about my existence, so the offense slides right off. It's beyond my control. Recognition sinks into her dark eyes, and I scramble to guess at where and when these bandits lived before. They do not look ready to be forthcoming.

A plan forms in my mind – Sazh-inspired, of all things. The time-drifting pilot has more tricks in reserve than he ever shows.

"Hey, Jessie," I call, having spotted her on the way around the fire-pit, and she jogs over.

"What's up, Chief?"

"You know where our Chronobind set is packed?" I ask. "We should play a few rounds."

Jessie just about jumps for joy. "You better believe it! Be right back."

I turn to the bandits, who are now just looking confused.

"Let's play a game of chance," I offer. "Just chips, no tangible wagers. I'll teach you all the rules, and we can do practice rounds. You'd have a fair shot at winning – double the chances with two players, in fact. Sound good?"

The young man tenses up, clearly still skeptical, but the girl tilts her head at me.

"What kind of payout?" she asks.

"Information, for me," I say. "If I win, you tell me all about yourselves and what led up to our encounter. But if one of you two wins, what would you prefer?"

Her male counterpart just scoffs. "You could let us walk away."

"Now that's a little too unconditional," I counter. "How about your freedom, with a guarantee that you'll show some discretion and not attack anyone from now on?"

This time, he laughs in disbelief. "You've got no _way_ to guarantee that!"

"You still owe me for your life." Unbidden, the pressure is there again, and I can't seem to blink it away. "Besides, how do you know what I'm capable of?"

Now, they both are wide-eyed. They exchange a long glance before the young man nods, apparently ready to take me seriously.

"I guess we could make that happen," he mutters. "Hasn't been our go-to anyway. If you win, though, and we give you the information, do we still get to leave?"

I shrug. "That's fine by me, with the same conditions. My security detail leader may have additional requirements, though."

Jessie comes running back, dragging Biggs along, and they plop down in the dirt with us. She sets out the clock board in the center, pulls out the card deck, and drops a bag of clay chips into my lap.

"Sorry about this, Jessie, but I need one of you to be the dealer this time."

"Aw, seriously?" she pouts. "You owe me." She takes back the bag, evenly dividing the chips and dealing out five cards to each of us. I set the clock hand on the red number 13.

"Wow," the bandit girl says suddenly, before we begin. "I haven't seen a thirteen-hour clock since… I don't even know when."

Biggs shakes his head. "This is the only place you're gonna see one, guaranteed."

"Okay," I say, rubbing my hands together. "So the first thing you need to know – this clock can be your enemy or your friend."

We take turns laying out the rules: the hierarchy of values from Ace-beats-King-or-clock-number to Ace-loses-every-other-time, how winning cards move the clock, the showdown and clock-out processes, chip additions to the pot on every clock 'charge' by hitting or passing 13, and the end game when someone inevitably loses all their chips. Every time I introduce this game to someone, I find myself amazed that such a relatively complicated game can be a staple for drunken gambling. Despite the various rules, however, it never takes long before people get the hang of it.

Our guests are sharp – they only need three practice rounds to get a solid feel for the game, and we jump right in. The chips change hands in a blur, stacking around the clock and being snatched up just as rapidly. By our fourth actual round, the bandit girl has begun to inch ahead of us all.

In the back of my mind, I'm looking for the right moment to utilize an Ace/Queen gambit, since those cards have landed in my hands now. Sazh has trained me decently well, even if I haven't managed to beat him yet.

Finally, maybe impossibly, the clock is charged at the 13 and I anticipate Kings to come out of the woodwork. I play my Ace.

"This one's mine!" I laugh on the reveal, to the groans of all, which only become louder when I follow up with my Queen on the next play. I take the pot and clock out.

"Damn it," the male bandit growls. His chips are dwindling, and his counterpart is looking nervous as she calculates her standing after my lucky hand.

He goes bust two plays later, his final chips forfeit on the charge.

"That's game!" Jessie announces, throwing a hand in the air. "Everybody count your winnings."

I finish sorting my chips and look up. Biggs is laughing at his sad little pile – he was barely hanging on in the end, anyway. The bandit girl, though, just taps at her chip stacks with a crestfallen expression. She's lost by a narrow margin.

"Just when I think my luck can't get any worse," she mutters.

Shrugging, I explain, "I used a pretty risky strategy. Half the time I lose on it."

"Yeah, as Sazh always says," Biggs tries, adopting a comically grim gaze into the fire, "Lady Luck is a fickle mistress."

I roll my eyes, but his antics do get a short laugh out of the girl. Jessie packs up the game, gives me a quick high five, and starts into a side-chat with Biggs as they wander off.

"I guess this is the part where we pay up," the male bandit says, shifting into a more comfortable position with his bound ankles. "By way of that information you wanted."

Nodding, I rest my forearms on my thighs and wait.

He meets my gaze with steely determination. "All right. First of all, not that it matters, but I'm Nej and this is Luka, originally from Yusnaan and Luxerion. Guess we're what you'd call 'immortals,'" he tells me, biting out the term in a way that turns my stomach with memories from my stint in school.

"We both used to live in your home settlement – heard they're calling it the Crossroads these days," he says, chuckling bitterly. "It's ambitious, I'll give 'em that – the whole resource supply chain, and trying to be this hub of civilization. Ambitious enough for folks like us to be a little… inconvenient."

Okay. This seems to be a conversational minefield, so I opt to tread lightly. "I take it you didn't part ways on the best of terms," I try. "Care to tell me what happened?"

"It's still pretty foggy to me," Nej says, bound hands open. "I know for a fact I wasn't the only moonshiner in town, but I guess I got a little too profitable? Or sold to the wrong person? Honest to god, I don't know. Just that my business got shut down and I was sent packing over a year ago. I'm blacklisted from that place. Jamus found me scoping one of the cultivation centers for food a few days after that, then we ran into Luka in the woods a couple weeks later."

"I assume Jamus is the name of your leader?" I ask, gesturing in the direction of the security tent.

"Yes," the girl, Luka, murmurs. She bobs her head, swallowing hard before she adds, "Some of us were easier to target, you know? I was… I was part of the cult they disbanded."

Her voice dies out and her eyes fall to the dirt.

Well, that certainly explains some things.

"You don't need to be afraid," I say. She looks back up, and I smile, hoping my face really does convey all the sincerity I can muster. "I don't hold anything against you, I promise. Lightning disbanded the cult, but she did _not_ force anyone out of town. Who made you leave?"

They exchange another glance, clearly apprehensive. The girl trips over a couple of false starts before she finally asks, "W-well, your father is on the council, right? You don't think… maybe he didn't feel like disbanding the cult was enough, after what we did?"

"Absolutely not," I retort. "He supported the Savior directing the cult to disband, but he never made any motion for those people to be expelled. Trust me – he never would. That isn't his nature. He wouldn't forgive something like that, either."

However, even as the words leave my mouth, it does make me wonder how much my father actually knew about the council's actions back then.

They are staring at me again, practically holding their breath and waiting to see where this could go. My elbows have dug trenches into my thighs from the lack of movement, so I shake out my limbs, trying to tone down my intensity.

"Did _all_ of the former cultists have to leave?" I ask Luka. "Or only some of you?"

She shakes her head, her shoulders sagging. "I'm not sure. I didn't know every single person in the cult, but a big group of us definitely left. Just not all at once," she explains. "Some were my friends, so I noticed when they kind of fell off the map. I'd ask around, find out that so-and-so went off to live with 'long-lost relatives,' or another few people left to work in a mine somewhere. One group left on a pilgrimage to find our original settlement pretty early on, and I heard about that firsthand but didn't want to join them."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Wait – your _original_ settlement?"

"Well yes," she laughs hollowly. "We were excommunicated from that place, so we went looking for the Savior and settled in the Crossroads instead. Only to have the whole cycle repeat itself _and_ lose our religion."

She pauses, eyes widening as she abruptly remembers to whom she's talking. With a slight wince, she hastily adds, "N-Not that it wasn't deserved."

"You still haven't told me why you were essentially deported, yourself," I ask again, side-stepping her blunder and carefully keeping my tone neutral. "It sounds like the rest of the former cult left for quite a variety of reasons – legitimate or not."

"Well, my skills aren't what you'd call desirable," she declares, her remnant of a smile thinning away. "No one needs a washed-up actress, and most places hated anyone associated with the cult, so I fell back on my old standby and started conning people in the markets. I wasn't the only one, either – it's surprisingly common. I was just one of the unlucky ones, caught and booted. Who would want to keep some insignificant cultist turned con-artist around?"

Luka is the picture of defeat. She reminds me a little of myself, two years ago – clawing and carving out a place for herself in a world where she does not fit, only to sink back down when it refuses to let her find purpose.

All of this makes me even more intent to uncover what is going on behind these expulsions from the Crossroads. It's hard for me to believe that every petty criminal is being deported for this behavior.

These two don't really seem to buy it, either.

My mind grasps at anything helpful to say. "Thanks for being honest with me," I finally tell them both. "Clearly you've been working with Jamus for a long time, and I assume others. What were you after on the train?"

"Supplies," Nej says simply. "Some places might trade for moonshine or maybe put us up occasionally, but none of these villages have much to spare. The trains have become our most reliable source – that and our only way to raise awareness or get payback, however it works out. On-board security is more of a challenge lately, so we've had to improvise. It's just been the three of us for a long time now."

Luka adds, "We fell in with a pretty nice commune in the mountains a while ago, but they weren't interested in getting involved with other settlements, especially the Crossroads. Eventually, we went our own way. They also weren't particular fans of our, um… ethics."

"You mean theft, or the use of weapons?" I ask. They both dodge my gaze. "Listen, I'm not here to judge. I want to help. What kind of supplies do you need?"

Nej is a picture of disbelief, until his expression warps with bitterness. His hands tighten into fists. "We can't rely on handouts. It's a nice thought, but Jamus says we've gotta plan long-term. If he made it in Ruffian, he's got a leg up on keeping us alive out here."

"I'm failing to see how intermittent train raids are any more a 'long-term solution' than handouts." Watching the way his eyes shift, I note the pieces clicking in place.

The more we talk, the more I remember. These three were once among the many souls Lightning intervened for in the final thirteen days. Their names are already familiar, but their faces have changed with the passage of time – it's certainly an adjustment seeing them somewhere other than a plethora of digital screens, as well. Still, nothing in their accounts is out of place.

Black Market Nej, as I recall, sought a special ingredient for his alcoholic concoctions.

Luka had given up acting to sell her tears to a city of people too far gone to cry.

And Jamus, though I hadn't interacted with him here, was surely the former bandit from Ruffian who survived the slaughter of his children by skeletons, nearly drowning in grief.

"What should we do, then?" Luka asks, her quiet, doubtful voice pulling me back from my thoughts. It's unclear if she's asking the question to me or to her counterpart, but Nej has fallen into a heavy silence, his eyes lost in the fire.

"That's a hard question," I sigh in frustration, running a hand through my hair. "I can't deny it. I have no right to tell you not to survive. Maybe you could call this situation, right now, just one lucky break in a series of breaks that you need to get to a better place. What I'd really like to know is where you want to end up."

"Well that's easy," Nej says, an ageless exhaustion weighing on his words. "We want a place to call home. Simple as that. Somewhere safe, around friends, where we can make a decent living."

I turn this over in my mind for a long minute – this living, breathing wish that I feel to the very edges of my being is shared by all humanity. Even if some of us push the boundaries of expectation in life, to the point that this intrinsic longing fades into the background, the substance of it survives at the core.

A place to call home.

Who else is looking for that place? Are they coming from the same border location? As I prop my face in my hands, a smile slowly dawns.

"Can you tell me a little more about that commune you found?"

* * *

The moment I finish briefing Glitch on my intentions with the bandits in custody, I wonder if the sergeant might just clock me.

He is pacing around in the now-vacated tent, seething waves rippling away from his position. If I were any normal person, I might be shaking in my boots. As it stands, I just wait for him to finish processing his rage.

Finally, he stops and turns the full force of his cold fury in my direction.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he growls. His voice is low, but the threat remains – far from being one of the more serious threats I have faced, if still troublesome.

I settle into a folding chair, chin in my hand. "Could you be a little more specific?"

"Oh, for damn sure," he snaps, raising a finger at me. "One, I don't know who you think died and made you the arbiter of fate for a bunch of criminals on this assignment, but it was _not_ me. And two, you've got to be out of your mind to think you can just release them back into the wild as some sort of ferrymen taking deportees to an unknown commune."

Shifting my chin to the other hand, I take a long breath. "Calm down, Glitch. This is not the end of the world, trust me. I just see a golden opportunity here. These people, as we have separately gathered, don't have a base of operations and are only interested in survival and exposing a systemic issue in the Crossroads. What sort of fate were _you_ planning on sentencing them to?"

"I'm not sentencing anyone! It's just protocol," he fires back. "They committed an actual crime, and normally they would've remained in the custody of on-board security for _gassing and_ _attacking us_ on the train. We'll turn them over to Augusta in the morning, and they'll be transported under escort to the Crossroads on the next eastbound train. From there, based on what I know of other bandit arrests recently, they'll be sent to work in the mines, maybe worse for the leader. That's all there is to it."

A new and particularly deep pit opens in my stomach at the thought of forced labor in a mine, and I grimace at the sensation. Some of these sites are probably mines discovered in my own survey expeditions.

"So you'll just hand them over, no questions asked?" I charge, sitting up and gesturing toward the tent flap. "To be shipped back and thrown into a mine, or worse? That girl is a minor, and the guy with her isn't much older. Their leader seems to have adopted them as a new surrogate family, by your account and from what I know of his history. They were essentially _banished_ from our home settlement – sent into the wilderness to possibly die over petty crimes at best, and for all we know, it's still going on unchecked. I'm not sure if that's better or worse than being sent off to forced labor, which apparently happened to some of their compatriots already, but it does not sit well with me. None of it."

A momentary flash of anguish passes over Glitch's face, but he regains his bearing in a breath. "You're taking this on the word of a couple of strangers who attacked us? And we both know they aren't just kids – like their leader, they lived a few lifetimes before."

"It's funny how people can take or leave the 'immortality' repercussions to suit their own needs," I retort, fighting a losing battle against the indignation burning in my chest and creeping in behind my eyes. "Apparently, a lot has changed since I went out into the field, and not all for the better. Please do elaborate if you have proof to the contrary. But I need you to understand – I recognize their names and faces from Lightning's previous interactions with them. Those lifetimes were a _miserable_ existence, and it's absurd and cruel to use that against them now. They are currently caught in a vicious cycle, and someone needs to break it. What do you think my job is, anyway, if not to find creative solutions to problems like this?"

"Your job is to solve a trade dispute for the railway to proceed," Glitch deflects with stilted formality. "Not assign a mission to a bunch of bandits. That isn't your decision to make. It's _mine_ as your security detail lead during this assignment, and as the representative given custody of these criminals by on-board security. The protocol would be to send them back to a legal authority for processing. It's nothing personal."

"You can't be serious," I challenge. "It's a travesty to _not_ take this personally! These are actual people's lives! Two of them are _young_ lives, regardless of their history, and the other is their adoptive father figure. The world isn't getting another reboot for them."

"You say all of this like you're somewhere outside of the whole sad tale, but you're barely a legal adult yourself," Glitch counters, side-eying me with open skepticism. "Why should they get a free pass when you hold yourself to some higher standard?"

"Because I'm an anomaly," I huff. "They do not need to meet my standards by any stretch, so leave me out of the equation. Please."

It's difficult to tell if I'm getting through to him. I sink back into the chair, rubbing my temple in frustration. "Look, you obviously have the authority to override me on this, which is why I'm begging you to reconsider. I just need to know… Can you can look me in the eyes and tell me your way is the _right_ way? That they deserve the punishment you would be sending them off to receive? And make no mistake – being a couple of steps removed from the actual hand of judgment doesn't absolve you _or_ me of guilt."

Glitch just stares, as if he's looking into a void and finding something other than me in the depths. It's a familiar, searching puzzlement that often suffused Lightning's face in our first couple of years together, even when she knew part of the truth behind my incongruous state. His dark expression hardens until it finally cracks around the edges, his fists clenching and releasing as he turns aside, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"You are _impossible_ ," he huffs, disbelief and exasperation in his tone. Shaking his head, he faces me again. "If Lightning was here instead, fighting you on this, you can't tell me you'd be pushing back like some idealistic, self-appointed authority figure."

"Are you kidding?" I scoff, swallowing down the burn of his insinuation. "I would pull out all the stops. She's famously stubborn. But again, this isn't about me _or_ about her. Do _you_ support an alternative plan for these bandits, instead of essentially dumping them into forced labor and turning a blind eye to a systemic issue? Please be honest. We would need to present the option and make them aware of the conditions, if so."

Glitch traces a thoughtful hand over the row of beads on his head, measuring his words. "I'll admit, I've seen some things I'm not too proud of, in my time on Cocoon and on the border," he says quietly. "This incident, these accounts we have… they're consistent with what I know. I don't agree with the punishments being handed out, but I haven't exactly been in any position to change that."

"Well, right now you're the only one who can," I try. "If anything had gone differently – if on-board security took over, or if we had reported directly to Augusta, there would be no opportunity here. I don't believe in coincidences. These people deserve a second chance, and I think they can do a lot of good for others being thrown into this same situation."

"I do know a vicious cycle when I see one, and you aren't wrong," he admits quietly. "You might be a little crazy, but this could be a step in the right direction. They'll need the locations to monitor for deportees to even have a shot at finding anyone – it's privileged, so this part of the plan definitely needs to stay between us. If they're as dedicated to the cause as you seem to think, maybe they can spare a few lives before it's too late. I'd rather not add to my list of regrets."

"Thank you," I say, heaving a sigh of relief. I stand to shake his hand on it. "I forget that most people don't routinely challenge authority."

"Just yours?" he scoffs.

"Touché," I laugh. "What little there is, self-appointed or otherwise."

"We'll have to strike this from the record," Glitch mutters, hand on his chin. "Shouldn't be a problem, though. I'll smooth things over with the observer, let him know I'm giving them a conditional release to return to that commune. This security incident's got nothing to do with a diplomatic mission that hasn't even technically started, yet."

Nodding, I'm a little surprised at my own happiness over this small detail. Specs said I would have his support, and Glitch seems to trust him to a point as well.

"I'll ask Jessie and Wedge to pack some rucks with changes of clothes and supplies for them. They'll need to backtrack along the rail to board the eastbound train at the last watering station," I say, flying through the wickets in my mental list. "They should disembark at the village stop right before the Crossroads, then follow your directions to monitor the deportation site. I should probably explain everything to them myself."

Glitch narrows his eyes at me. "For the record, you do know they could all just bail on this plan of yours, right? Don't you ever wonder if some people are beyond help?"

"No," I shrug. "When that was Light's call to make, she still saved everyone."

There are, after all, some things you just do. Or fall short after lifetimes of _trying_.

"You would say that," he chuckles, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. "What the hell were you in the old world, besides a l'Cie? Some kind of philanthropist?"

Shaking my head, I just walk over to the flap to leave. "That's a long story for some other time. See you in a bit."

* * *

Glitch stands guard just inside the entrance to the security tent, impassively watching the three bandits sitting in a row.

"You're back!" Luka pipes up when I join them, and I take a seat just a few feet away on the floor. I roll out a smaller copy of a regional map between us, weighting it down and digging around for a pencil.

Nej cracks a hopeful grin. "This is the guy we were talking about," he says to Jamus, who stares at me in open disbelief.

"You're that kid who was tagging along with the Savior?" Jamus asks dubiously, narrowing his one good eye at me. "Luka said so. Said this was your survey team."

"All true. But enough about that," I say, gesturing toward Glitch. "The sergeant here has some good news."

Glitch crosses his arms, his dark eyes boring into each of their faces. "I've decided to allow your release, conditionally. Hope will explain the details. Understand that the alternative would be turning you over to security in Augusta, who would send you back to the authorities in the Crossroads. If you are later apprehended for additional criminal activity, like the incident earlier today, that will be the protocol. Do I make myself clear?"

"As crystal," Jamus says without missing a beat. He scratches around his eyepatch for a moment, then looks to me. "Let's hear these conditions."

"What we are asking you to do is fairly straightforward," I explain, waving my hand at the map. "You'll have to cease all criminal activity, of course – no more stealing or attacking people on trains, etc. Instead, we want you to monitor deportation checkpoints and escort the other deportees to the commune you found. I'm hoping you can help provide a stopgap measure to the issue."

Jamus chuckles darkly. "You're shitting me, right? I have a hard time buying that you lot are concerned about the mess we all crawled out of, _if_ you even believe us."

"Well, start buying it," I say. "I am absolutely serious. We'll be giving you some supplies and providing other resources to get things off to a good start."

Smiling, I tap my pencil to the map. "Based on everything Luka and Nej told me, this should be the location of a certain commune you joined sometime last year."

Jamus searches the area of the map around my marker for a long minute, finally nodding at the claim. "Yeah, that's about right."

"And here, you'll find a security out-processing checkpoint for deportees," I say, moving my pencil to a separate location on the eastern border of the Crossroads. "It's early March right now, so this would be the location used until the month is up. They rotate clockwise through the towers." Tapping each of several other points in succession, I look back up to Jamus.

"So what do you think?" I ask. "Will you take on this mission?"

"It's not like we've got a choice," Jamus says, shaking his head. He runs a hand through his greasy hair. "You really trust us to do everything you're asking?"

"Hard to say," I admit. "I'm curious, though. As a complete stranger, you asked Lightning to wipe out an entire race of monsters – some pretty horrific skeletons, actually – to avenge your family, and she did it. What do you think she would want you to do with the life you've gotten here? Can you think of a better use of your time?"

His eye goes wide, boring into me. "You knew about that?"

"I know all three of your histories, actually. If you want a second chance, we are offering it now," I say, smoothing my hands over the map. "Please take this to heart. I don't care if you're doing it for the people who are suffering, out of gratitude to Lightning, to get back at the Crossroads, or out of fear that you might face some cosmic karma. I harbor no delusions that you would do it for me. Just make it happen."

The three of them stare at the map, silence growing thick in the air around us. Eventually, Jamus raises his head and clears his throat.

"We're definitely gonna need some help getting back."

"Easy enough," I say, pulling three cards from a utility pouch. "These are train passes from three of my team members – we won't be needing them for a while, and we can replace them quickly enough. My team is also packing your bags right now, to include changes of clothes for travelling without suspicion."

I lay out the plan in detail, starting from the point of departure to the train boarding and debarking, and we discuss the best routes to the deportation checkpoint and the commune from there. I draw the proposed southern track as we go, detouring to another location with respect to additional resources.

"This hunting village is pretty far south, but will serve as an excellent halfway point on your trip to the checkpoint," I explain, circling the site on the map. I pull a folded letter from my pouch and toss it next to the train passes. "My old friend Noel Kreiss is there. This is a letter explaining the circumstance – he should be willing to help, if you show this to him. And speaking of letters, I'd appreciate it if you could write to me here in Augusta about your progress. Personal accounts from the people being deported could help us fight this issue internally."

Luka tilts her head at me. "Will you be working with your father, then?"

"We'll see," I reply, making a mental note to ask my father about his own work once I make it back home. "It depends on what the situation is really like on the council right now. I need more information, first."

At the entrance, Biggs suddenly pops his head through the flap, grinning wide. "Hey Chief, I've got the rucks!" He shoulders his way into the tent and drops all three bags next to the map, dusting his hands before he points to the furthest one. "That one's from Jessie – better sizing on the clothes for Luka."

"Thanks a lot, Biggs." He gives me a thumbs up and heads right back out.

I roll up the map, then clap my hands together. "All right. Any questions before we send you all off?"

Jamus holds out his bound wrists. "Are you gonna tell Lightning about this whole plan?"

"Absolutely," I laugh, tugging at the knot of the rope. I meet his one-eyed gaze and smile. "I'm sure you'll give it your very best."

* * *

Frost coats the ground, ever so slightly crunching underfoot as I step out of my tent the next morning, rubbing my bleary eyes. The sun has only just begun to think about rising, the fire-pit is an ashen heap on the earth before me, and Glitch is already posted outside the main tent. He nods in my direction, and I pick my way across the strewn campsite.

"Morning," he mutters, looking equally weary. "Should be an eventful day."

"Still feeling good about the special secret mission?" I ask, smothering a yawn.

"Cautiously optimistic. You're a regular people person, aren't you?"

"Ironically enough."

Camp slowly comes to life before us, one stretching team member at a time. Glitch calls a joint huddle of the entire party to explain the situation around breakfast. Honestly, I'm relieved to see that the release of the bandits is blowing over much more quickly than even our most mundane challenges from wildlife.

As Glitch puts it, their conditional release will free up time and resources that might otherwise be wasted on such a minor incident. No one seems to disagree.

It probably helps that none of them were tear-gassed.

The conversation rapidly turns toward everything our respective groups plan to do in town, supplies and trinkets they want to seek out, and plans to find an establishment to gather at for drinks later in the evening.

I focus on Glitch's squad clustered in front of the security tent, taking note of their distinguishing features in a rare moment of opportunity while they are not yet on duty in their helmets. There is a lone woman in the group, a redhead with a pixie cut. Of the three men she is talking to, one wears a kind smile and reminds me strongly of Sazh – at least, a burly version of Sazh with a military-grade shaved head. The other two men are of average build, and would be indistinguishable from this angle if not for their hairstyles – the first has a close-cropped cut while the second sports a mess of tied-back waves.

Lastly, Specs stands a little apart from the rest who chat together like the oldest of friends, his dark hair and glasses catching my attention. He looks up and nods in my direction, fleetingly smiling in silent acknowledgement. I feel certain that he won't be making trouble for us over the bandit incident.

Still working to fully wake up, I sip on my coffee and answer the questions that fly at me from my own team as everyone rushes around the campsite to get ready for the day. Their enthusiasm right now is directly proportionate to my anxiety over entering Augusta.

There, less than a mile away, lies an entire town full of people who might actually know me on sight. For better or for worse.

"Well, I'm taking the full tour, this time," Biggs declares in passing. He claps me on the shoulder. "Chief, you're gonna be done in time to join us in town tonight, right?"

"I'll do my best," I say, reaching up to mash down the detestable cowlick on the back of my head. "Please don't wait for me if we're running late."

"All right," he says skeptically, gesturing with two fingers from his eyes to mine. "But you'd better not fall off the map. This place is chock full of labs and techie gear – there's a hell of a lot more distractions and places to hide, and we've lost you over less. I know you've got a security escort and all that, just promise you won't try to shake _them_ , too."

"I promise I have no plans to that effect," I deadpan. I take another sip of coffee, rolling my eyes over the rim of my mug. "Now go have fun in town. Smart fun."

"You bet I will," he laughs as he strolls away.

A background buzz of chatter spreads and dies down as several of the team head off early. Jessie walks by a few minutes later to dump a garment bag and a comb into my arms, giving me the usual judgment-face on the destroyed state of my hair.

There are important things on the schedule today, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-roomie's end note commentary continues! Trying not to screw up the formatting…
> 
> \- [When Snow says some things were in Lightning's territory] Snow: "That's uhh… that's not really my territory—" Other FF13 Fanfic Writers: CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
> 
> \- [Where Snow asks how often he can spite Bhunivelze] I love this line, it's amazing. I'm just imagining Snow in Hope's corner jumping around with boxing gloves, all like, "ohhhh imma punch me a god, aw yeeeeah"
> 
> \- [When Hope describes the smell of the cushion] God what a DORK XD
> 
> \- [After Hope just tells Jessie his mom was dead] Loool what a buzzkill XD
> 
> \- [When Hope tells the bandits he isn't there to judge] I am. You motherfuckers shot people with tear gas, wtf
> 
> \- [After the observer notes that the Savior is more 'Hope's' than anyone else's] I love the idea that everyone is like, "dude Hope is banging the Savior, whaaaat"
> 
> \- [After Hope threw up and said he'd had worse days] Looooool that is the most adult line in this entire story. XD I have absolutely had this exact thought before:
> 
> "Wait, you had a 14-hour day and missed lunch and had to run around like crazy all day? And you're SICK? Wtf?"
> 
> "Yeah, but like… it's not SERE and I'm not deployed, so it could be worse."
> 
> #militarylife
> 
> \- [When Glitch questions why Hope is carrying around an epic weapon] Look, my dude, when you live in a crazy fantasy land created by a Savior literally battling a God & you're traveling with one of the people involved in said battle, then yeah, you probably should assume that. Like, do you even Final Fantasy, bro?
> 
> \- [Where Hope asks how they know what he's capable of] I love how effortlessly intimidating this line is XD
> 
> \- [After Glitch questions whether Hope would put up this fight against Lighting] Lol you clearly don't have the insider view on their relationship at all –
> 
> Lightning: "You're being idealistic and ridiculous about this!"
> 
> Hope: "sorry can't hear you, my stubbornness has reached full 'imma do it out of SPITE' levels tyvm"
> 
> \- [Where Jamus questions that Hope was the kid tagging along with the Savior] Um, I believe the verb you are searching for is "banging", good Sir, and he's totally of age so jot THAT down—
> 
> \- [After Hope asks Jamus if he can think of a better use of his time] Lol guilt tripping with the best of 'em, I'm so proud
> 
> \- [When Hope remarks that it probably helps that none of the team were gassed] This line is so fucking funny to me, like it's half Hope being grateful and half Hope still annoyed about being tear-gassed XD


End file.
